Do Be My Enemy for Friendship's Sake
by Okina
Summary: Laura and Percy have hated Oliver since a fight five years ago. When the true causes of the fight come out, it sparks a chain of secrets to be divulged, including the characters' feelings on the death of Dan Weasley. OliverOriginal Character! COMPLETE!
1. Loneliness and Sympathy

_Disclaimer_: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, places, etc. found in the Harry Potter books. These belong to J.K. Rowling and various others, such as Scholastic and Bloomsbury. In addition, the title of this story comes from a quote by William Blake: "Thy friendship oft has made my heart to ache: do be my enemy-- for friendship's sake." I thought that it was appropriate.

_Author's note_: I wrote the beginning of this story on a very old computer over the course of a year or two. I decided that it would be worth more where other people could read it and (constructively) criticize it. Also, I am American and I decided that it would be more irritating for you all if I pretended that I wasn't while writing this. So, only extremely well known British words are used in this story (like Mum instead of Mom). I also decided that it would be more annoying if I did not at least try to write Hagrid's dialogue in a dialect. Read, review and enjoy.

**Do Be My Enemy for Friendship's Sake**

**ByMerlinsBeard**

**Chapter 1: Loneliness and Sympathy**

We had been best friends for what seemed like forever. When I was eleven, trying to find an empty seat on the Hogwarts Express, feeling completely out of place, it was Percy who brought me into the same compartment as his brothers, Charlie and Bill. The Sixth and Seventh Years treated us like royalty, asking us what house we wanted to be in and telling us everything that we needed to know in order to survive our first week as First Years.

When Percy and I were both sorted into Gryffindor, it was official: we would be best friends. We got each other through the terrors of being in a strange place with even stranger people and creatures. Granted, it was mainly me who needed help getting through it. Percy's family was made up of wizards. I was a Muggle-born child who had only learned that magic existed when my letter came from Hogwarts.

I was still unsure of what had happened. Percy started dating Penelope. I knew that much. But what had happened to our friendship? That question kept me thinking into the night. I couldn't just accept what seemed too un-Weasley-like. Percy would not just ditch me.

I sat alone in the common room watching everyone go about his or her own business. The Sixth Years were huddled around the fireplace, like always. I often wondered if they were all vampires and that's why the fire never seemed to overheat them as it did to the rest of us. The Fifth Years were nowhere to be seen, no doubt planning some attack on the Slytherin common room under the leadership of Fred and George. The Fourth Years were doing homework. Potter and Company were doing the same. The First and Second Years had gone to bed already.

And the Seventh Years? My year? Wood's fan club? Who cared? Certainly not me. Nor Percy, although Percy was nowhere to be seen, I reminded myself.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, I thought. You're not supposed to be alone during your Seventh Year. This was supposed to be the best year of my life. Not the worst.

And so that night was the same as every other night had been for the past few months—the first few months of school that year. I walked up to the dormitory, so I would be alone without the company of everyone else.

About an hour later, the rest of the Gryffindor Seventh Year girls walked into our dormitory. I smiled at them and they all returned the favor. I didn't hate them, after all. I just couldn't like them, and the same was supposed to be true for the four of them.

"Laura, what are you doing up here?" Cedar Treeman asked sweetly. Her real name was Cynthia, but the play off her last name fit her better. She was strong and the tallest girl in our year, but she kept some sort of femininity.

"Don't, Cedar," Joan Creevey said quietly. She was soft spoken and considerate—sometimes too considerate. I often wondered why she wasn't in Hufflepuff.

They all knew why I was there all alone. All of the Sixth and Seventh Years did, no matter what house they were in.

"I was only trying to be polite," Cedar said, heading towards her wardrobe to get her pajamas.

"I know," I said, looking down.

"Laura?" Joan asked. "Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with us tomorrow?"

"What?" said the rest of us in the room.

"We can all hang out together. The four of us were only going to sit around The Three Broomsticks anyway. It can be the five of us instead," Joan said, smiling.

There was a slight pause. "Yeah. We want you to come," Tara Spencer said, walking over and sitting on the edge of my bed. "Just the five of us."

Tara was beautiful and, while she knew it, she tended just to ignore it.

I nodded, still surprised, but happy. Perhaps I was being set up, I thought. But I doubted it. And I was lonely. "All right. Tomorrow, then."

They all smiled and nodded.

Tomorrow became today, and the next thing I knew, I was walking with the four other Seventh Years to Hogsmeade. The walk to Hogsmeade is where students had the most privacy. There are no paintings or ghosts around, and one can easily see if any other students or teachers are within listening distance. After we were away from the dementors, conversation started.

"I think I'm going to break up with Cedric," Rose Brown said. Rose was also quite pretty, but unlike Tara, she cared. Rose was nice but she often came across as quite snobbish.

"What?" the other three girls asked in unison.

"Are you crazy? He's gorgeous, athletic and a Hufflepuff," Tara said.

"Exactly. He's a Hufflepuff. They're so… dull. And he's only sixteen. I need some excitement."

"Like who?" I asked.

"Flint," Rose said, smiling broadly.

"The Slytherin?" Cedar asked. "Ew." Cedar told you what she though when she thought it.

"He's good looking," Rose said.

"So is Cedric," Tara said.

"But Marcus Flint is so…."

"Controversial?" I guessed.

"Exactly! Exciting. We'd be the talk of the school," Rose said.

"Why not date Professor Lupin? He's good looking and controversial," Cedar said.

The rest of us laughed.

"On second thought, leave him alone. He's mine," Cedar said.

"You can have Lupin if I can have Snape," Rose said, unable not to make a face.

"And I get Flitwick," Tara added.

"Dumbledore!" Joan said, cracking up with the rest of us.

They all turned to me.

"Well?" Rose asked.

"Well, what? You all obviously claimed my first choices," I said, smiling.

"Oh, come on."

"Just keep away from Hagrid and we'll get along fine."

We all laughed and joked about the professors for a few more minutes before we'd exhausted the material and started feeling bad for making fun of people we genuinely liked, or at least respected.

"So, you think I shouldn't break up with Cedric?" Rose asked to change the subject.

"No, it sounds like you should," Cedar said.

There was silence for a few minutes, and I started feeling the awkwardness of being around these girls outside of Hogwarts. Cedar must have felt it, too, because she quickly tried to keep the conversation going.

"So, we've fixed Rose's romantic dilemma. Who's next? Laura?"

I jumped a little and mentally laughed at myself for thinking that the silence had been awkward. I'd been hearing about their lives for years. After they figured out that I wasn't going to spread their secrets around Hogwarts, they began talking openly in the dormitory. However, it made things easier on all sides to pretend as if I wasn't there. My problems never came up.

"Sorry. No dilemmas to speak of," I said, trying to be nonchalant.

"Come now. There must be something worth talking about," Rose prodded, never one to give up on good gossip.

"Not really," I said, trying to think of a new subject.

"Not really? Come on. I've never heard of you dating anyone in the seven years you've been here. After all of the times you've had to listen to our problems, surely there's a 'not really' that we can help you with now," Rose insisted.

"I don't really want to talk about it," I said, blushing.

"Ahh… what did he do to you?" she asked.

"Rose, leave her alone," Joan said.

"He didn't do anything to me."

"Well, surely it wasn't your fault. It's always the boy's fault," Rose said, ignoring Joan's glare.

"He died," I said quickly.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"The summer after our third year," I said, just to break the silence and thinking that maybe the length of time involved would make them less uneasy.

"Dan?" Tara asked. She immediately looked sorry for prying.

"Yes," I said.

"How?" Rose asked.

Cedar hit her lightly on the arm. "We all know how," she whispered.

"Not how he died," Rose whispered back. "How she was dating a Seventh Year when we were only going to be Fourth Years."

"She can hear you," Joan said almost angrily.

"I was spending the month with Percy at the Burrow," I said.

"You don't have to prove your story, Laura," Joan said, casting another dirty look at Rose.

"I wasn't saying she was lying. We all know she was there when it happened. I only meant that there's a large age difference—"

"And no one guessed or knew because of the age gap," I said, getting angry.

"You don't have to say anything," Joan said. "We believe you."

"What's not to believe?"

"That you were dating the Quidditch Captain who was three years older than you," Rose challenged. She was quick to meet anger with anger. It's not a trait I can condemn without being hypocritical.

"I shouldn't have come," I said, feeling tears come into my eyes and turning to head back to the castle.

"Don't go," Joan said.

"Yeah, we want to hear about it," Cedar said.

Perhaps loneliness makes you stupid. Perhaps anger does. A combination of both certainly must. I never would have told them without both. Not because I didn't trust them; I'd heard enough about each of them to keep them silent.

"My parents had always wanted to travel, but I was born before they could really get the chance. So they decided to take a month and see Europe"

"Laura, you don't have to tell us—" Joan started.

"Then you'll think I was lying, and the lie will be one more thing you pity me for," I snapped.

She looked a little hurt but joined the others in listening.

"So, I spent the month with the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley didn't mind having another person to look after. I spent most of my time with Percy, but Percy has always been a workaholic, and I started getting bored. I started spending more time with the other Weasley children, especially Ginny. We spent a lot of time watching the others play Quidditch at their pitch behind the house. They all love the sport, except Percy

"I went back to the pitch to find Ginny one day while only Dan was practicing. He didn't have as much talent as his older brothers, or even Fred and George, but he was excellent at strategy. He never thought he was a good enough player to be a chaser for our team. Thought it was only his brothers that got him on the team. He practiced all the time."

"I never knew that," Cedar said.

"Only the Weasleys did, I think. Anyway, he noticed me watching him and said that if I was going to stay, I might as well help him practice. He told me to fly around and throw golf balls for him to catch. I—"

"Golf balls?" Cedar asked.

"Muggle sport. They're about the size of a snitch," Tara, a half-blood, explained.

"Oh, sorry," Cedar said.

"It's OK. Well, it only took about a minute for Dan to discover that there was a good reason that I always stayed on the ground with Ginny while they practiced. We had to spend a few hours out of every afternoon for a week teaching me how to fly before I could help him practice at all. But I liked talking to him more than I liked Quidditch, and after a while, we talked more than we practiced."

"It sounds romantic," Joan said, smiling.

I laughed. "Not at all. We fought all of the time. Eventually we figured out what topics to avoid." I wasn't angry anymore, but I was caught up in the story so I continued. "I knew that I liked him, but I just thought of it as a school girl crush on a boy who was older than me. Then one day, I walked out to meet him, Ginny, or whoever was out there. I saw him flying around slowly, which he usually did when he was working on a new play. No one ever interrupted this, so I stood there watching him. After a few minutes, he noticed me standing on the edge of the pitch and flew over. He got off his broom, leaned over and kissed me.

"I pulled away. I hadn't been expecting it, and he'd scared me."

"Was it your first kiss?" Rose asked.

"Yes. I was only going to be at the Burrow for about another week, and in that time, Dan only kissed me a couple more times. The age difference bothered us both a little, and we thought it would bother everyone else more. So that's why no one knows. And that's why you can't tell anyone. If one more person knows, then the whole school knows, and there are five Weasleys who don't need to be reminded of what happened. OK?"

All four of them promised quickly and I knew I could trust them.

"So the Weasleys don't know?" Tara asked after a minute.

"There was never a good time to tell them. They don't talk about him. Ever. At least not while I'm around. Anyway, it doesn't really matter anymore."

We walked the rest of the way to The Three Broomsticks in silence. Four of us claimed a table near the back while Cedar ordered five butterbeers at the counter. She rejoined us a few minutes later. Madame Rosmerta followed her, carefully balancing a tray with our drinks. She placed them in the center of the table before walking away quickly. The Three Broomsticks was always extremely busy on Hogsmeade weekends.

The five of us began to drink without talking.

"You know," Joan said after a few minutes, "there's no reason why you can't hang out with us at Hogwarts. You don't have to seclude yourself just because—"

"Thanks, but no thanks," I said, coldly. Upon seeing her hurt expression, I added, "It's never been you four. You know that. You understand."

"No, I don't," Joan said, but after that she didn't try to push the issue.

Slowly, the conversation reached a normal level, and after about an hour and a few butterbeers each, we were laughing and having a great time.

"You're messing with us," Rose said.

"No. I was looking out a window with Dave, and a big cat and dog went into the Whomping Willow. I have no idea how they did it. All I know is that one second the willow was whomping, and the next second, it's frozen and two animals are walking into the tree," Cedar said.

"You've been obsessed with that old tree forever. When Potter and Percy's little brother hit it with that car, you cried," Tara said.

"I didn't," Cedar protested.

"Did too," the rest of us said, laughing.

"So I was worried about it. Poor thing. Had a sling and everything," Cedar said, suddenly very somber.

We all laughed even harder.

"So there you are. We've been looking for you four."

I stopped laughing immediately. The other girls, looking over my head and smiling a little, gradually grew silent as well.

"I thought we were all going to check out Zonko's."

"Change of plans," Cedar said.

I stood up and brushed some nonexistent dirt off my cloak. "I have some homework to finish up back at the castle. I'll see you…." I said, smiling at the girls and ignoring the boys beside me.

"Where's Percy?"

"Oliver, shut up," Rose said.

"We'll walk back with you, Laura," Tara said, standing as well.

"We were heading back to the castle, too," Adam Still, Tara's boyfriend, said. He had never truly caught onto the fact that not everyone got along and most people liked him for that.

"No, I still need to buy… something at… I don't know, I have to buy something," Mark Jordan, Joan's boyfriend, said, trying to ease some tension.

"Now, Mark. What kind of men would we be if we didn't walk the girls back to the castle?"

"Men?" I muttered.

Wood just smiled sweetly, making me even angrier. "Unless, of course, you were waiting for Percy and Penelope," he said to me.

"Let's just go if we're going to, OK?" Joan asked, standing and giving Wood one of her looks.

He stepped back and motioned for the girls to walk in front of him. I walked out of the bar before they could catch up and ducked inside of Honeydukes. After about five minutes, I made my way back into the street.

"Hey, Laura!"

I turned towards the voice. It was Percy. He jogged up to me.

"Hi," I said, smiling broadly. I talked to Percy in between classes and at some meals, but it had been a while since I'd been around him outside of or after school.

"Hey, listen, have you seen Penelope? I lost her in Flourish and Blotts," he said, looking in both directions down the street.

I sighed. "No, I haven't."

"Oh. OK. Well, maybe she went to The Three Broomsticks, then. See you," he said, walking off.

I drew my cloak around me and started back towards the castle, alone. About halfway there, I heard someone call my name again.

I turned to see Professor Hagrid and smiled to greet him.

"'ello, Laura. 'ow are ya?"

"I'm fine," I lied.

"Really? Ya seemed like ya were mopin'."

I turned on my fake smile that I'd been using more and more often. "I'm just taking my time getting back to the castle. How're you?"

"Oh, well…. I've been better."

I nodded. "So have I."

"Want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about, really."

It was his turn to nod. "Ya know, sometimes ya just 'ave to play with th' cards yer dealt."

"What?"

"Me. I weren't meant to be a professor."

"Nonsense. You love it. I can tell."

"Yes, but the students aren't enjoyin' themselves."

I didn't answer at first. "Look. I know Malfoy's incident shook you up. Maybe you started off too big with the younger students, right? They should start with… less dangerous creatures, but that's no reason not to work with more interesting creatures with your older students, right?"

His smile brightened. "Yer right, I suppose."

"I think so."

"I think yer right. I'm gonna go back and work on somethin'," he said, walking faster, which, for Hagrid, was pretty fast. "Thanks!"

"You're welcome," I said, although I doubt he heard me.

Once I reached the gates, I ate a piece of chocolate and hurried through the gates and towards the castle. When I got back to the common room, the rest of the Seventh Years were already there, in their normal place near the center of the room. Joan stood up when she saw me and intercepted me before I could reach the door to the stairway leading to the dormitory.

"I'm sorry," she said.

I tried to say something but she cut me off.

"Not for Wood. I should have said that I was sorry about Daniel."

I shook my head. "I shouldn't have told you in the first place. I usually don't just… ramble like that."

"You should have told someone sooner."

"Tell who?" I asked quickly.

"Any one of us would have gladly listened," she said. "We don't hate you."

"I know," I said, a tad bit defensively.

"And you don't hate us."

"No."

"Then why not come over with me—"

"I don't hate you, but—"

"Oliver? Why not just let it go? It's ancient history," she said.

"Not to us."

"But it's stupid."

I shook my head. "I'm not the only one you'd have to convince. It's complicated. You know that. Everyone knows that. But no one, not me, not Percy and not Wood, understands how complicated it is."

"Then let it go," she said. "Why isolate yourself?"

"I have homework, Joan. I appreciate the thought, but I don't want anyone's pity except my own. I'll see you later," I said, dodging past her and hurrying upstairs.

_Author's note_: I do my best to make dialogue sound believable. It was more difficult in this chapter because I was trying to introduce the three main conflicts in the story. The conflicts become more connected later. There's no real cliffhanger here, it's just a natural chapter break, so I'll put the cliffhanger here. voice over What did Percy and Oliver fight about that Joan thinks is so stupid? What happened to Daniel Weasley? And what is the scariest thing in the Forbidden Forest: an unknown creature or Laura's "enemy"? Some answers coming up… in Chapter 2…. end of voice over


	2. Truth is but a Vision

Author's note: Thank you for continuing. In this chapter: more on the nature of Oliver and Laura's relationship. Please review!

**Chapter 2: The Truth is but a Vision**

The next morning, I joined Percy at breakfast. He looked up at me and smiled.

"Good morning," I said, looking down at my plate.

"Morning," he said. "How are you?"

"Fine," I said, a little harshly.

"You don't sound fine."

"Yeah, well…." I said.

He didn't respond at first. "Did you have fun at Hogsmeade?"

"For the most part."

"What'd you do?" he asked, biting into his toast.

"Talked to Joan, Rose, Cedar and Tara," I said.

He swallowed and frowned slightly. "Why?"

"Because they asked me to join them," I said, frowning back.

"Why?" he asked again, looking confused.

"They were being nice."

"But why?"

"Oh, what do you care?" I asked, grabbing a piece of toast from the center of the table.

"What do you mean by that?"

I grabbed a napkin, stood up, and turned my back on him. "Figure it out, Percy," I snapped, heading out of the Great Hall.

I passed Joan and Professor McGonagall, who were standing in the hall right outside of the Great Hall.

"…her. Please, Professor. I can't do…." Joan was saying.

Professor McGonagall looked a little unsure.

I ate breakfast in the hall outside of the Transfiguration classroom. People, mainly from Ravenclaw, started coming, eventually. Wendy Lowe sat down next to me.

"Hey, can you do me a favor?" she asked.

"What?" I asked with no curiosity. Wendy and I got along, but weren't exactly friends.

"Give this to Adam Still for me?" she asked, handing over a piece of parchment.

I sighed. "I don't—"

"I can't give it to him myself, and you're a Gryffindor," she said, dropping the letter in my lap. "Thank you," she said, standing up and leaving.

I rolled my eyes and stood up, as well. Professor McGonagall was coming to unlock the classroom. Joan was talking to her again, and Professor McGonagall was nodding slowly.

I sat in my normal place: in the front row, on the corner, next to the windows, next to Percy. Except now Percy was sitting in the desk that was front and center and in front of Penelope.

"Good morning. We're working on transfiguring medical equipment out of natural materials this week. You will have a partner to work with. You'll be going outside today to gather materials you believe will be useful. On Wednesday and Friday, you will be given a hypothetical medical emergency and must attempt to solve it with the materials you gathered. Your textbooks will help you.

"Partners… let's see. Treeman and Creevey. Spencer and… Still. Weasley and Lowe." She kept pairing people up. I was one of the last two people to be paired up. "And Debman and… Wood," McGonagall said, looking just a little guilty.

My jaw dropped and I prepared myself to object, but the rest of the class was doing that for me, just by muttering their shock. Wood and I were not paired up. Percy and Wood were not paired up. Ever. Not even by Snape.

"No switching partners. Containers for collecting materials are next to the door. Now, go outside," McGongall said.

Wood and I had the same idea. We were at McGonagall's desk, arguing, before anyone else even had the chance to stand up. The class filed out, slowly, as Wood and I tried to talk over each other.

"No—"

"Absolutely not!"

"…crazy? We're—"

"…stupidest idea—"

"…Joan? Did she put you—"

"Shut up!" McGonagall said, throwing up her hands. "It's about time you two put your childish issues behind you and grew up! Either get along for a few hours or fail. Now, go!"

I was shocked. Professor McGonagall, as strict as she was, never told anyone to shut up and never insulted us. Wood and I walked away, muttering obscenities under our breath. We picked up some containers and left the castle in complete silence.

Outside of the big oak doors leading into the castle, we both stopped to think. I opened my book to the correct chapter and started skimming the text.

"Grass, moss, scum off the top of the lake… those are easy enough. Oak bark, pine needles… not too bad. After that it starts getting more interesting. Poison ivy, poison oak, lady's breath, Venus flytrap teeth, sap from… enchanted trees, roots from nightshade, pollen from blue bonnet, cats-eye, dream catcher, guard's feet…."

"Look, I'll go this way, and you go in the opposite direction, all right?" Wood said, pointing towards Hagrid's cabin.

I shrugged. "Fine with me. The Forbidden Forest is on your side of the grounds. Have fun finding some of this stuff… 'wolfsbane, bloodvine, dementor's hug.' I can only imagine some of the creatures that would eat this stuff."

Wood shivered very slightly. "Right, well, we can't go into the forest anyway. It's off limits."

"Where else would we get this? It's for a class. Now, I don't know about you, but I'm not entirely fond of the Forbidden Forest, or the Caves, which are in my direction and where we'll need to find some of this fungi. In situations like this, I'm not very picky about whose company I'm in," I said, dog-earring the page with a chart of commonly transfigured plants.

Wood didn't answer at first. He just started off in the direction of the forest. I was a little surprised (and insulted, of course). After he was a few meters from the bottom of the stairs that led up to the oak doors, he turned towards me. "Well?"

"Well, what?" I asked, unwilling to just hand over a victory. He'd have to ask me to come.

"I'd rather face the forest than the caves," he said.

So, I'd gain a victory later. The truth was, I'd rather face the forest, too.

"Let's get the normal things first, OK?" I asked, hurrying down the stairs after him and then heading towards the lake. "Any idea how to identify an oak from every other tree around this place?"

"My business is with the sky, not the ground," Wood said.

I rolled my eyes. "How poetic. Anyway, tell that to the tree you flew into during our first year," I said, smirking.

"If I wasn't so busy watching you and Percy to make sure you didn't kill yourselves, I wouldn't have flown into it. As I recall, I was yelling at you because you were flying straight for the Owlery," he said.

"And I missed it."

"You didn't. You just flew in one window and out another."

"That's easier said than done."

"Apparently. Percy ran into one of the owl's cages. Poor owl. Didn't see what was coming."

I laughed a little, caught myself and scowled again. "It's not our fault you weren't watching where you were going."

"No? Well, tell that to the tree I hit because it seems to blame the two of you for the whole incident," Wood said.

I smiled but turned my head so he couldn't see.

"So… how are Percy and Penelope?" Wood asked tauntingly.

"Jealous?" I asked.

"Of Penel—"

"Because Percy has a girlfriend while you, Mr. Captain of Gryffindor's Quidditch Team, are single," I said.

"See, it's funny. I care more about my friends than some girl who comes along," he said.

"Whatever," I muttered.

"Right, see, I forgot. What does Laura know about friendship, anyway?" he said coldly. He didn't sound like he was just taunting me anymore. He sounded… angry and hurt.

"What?" I asked, narrowing my eyes as I bent down to pull up some grass by a large rock by the lake.

"You heard me."

"Oh, I heard you. I just can't believe you said it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You who stabbed your best friend in the back," I spat, standing up so he wasn't towering over me.

"Me?" he asked, his eyes wide, jaw dropped. "Me? Who betrayed whom first?"

"What?"

"And I still made the team, second year, using one of the school's crappy broomsticks."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, louder and angrier.

"He stole my broom!"

"He took your broom because he was having Charlie improve it. Your broom wasn't exactly great, Wood. You never noticed that it flew ten times better after you got it back? Charlie Weasley filed down those knots on the handle and straightened out the tail. You weren't supposed to try out for the team until the next day. You went early, you git! Percy wanted to surprise you. It was supposed to be a gift!" I said.

I leaned over to scoop out some pond scum in a little container Professor McGonagall had given each group. The next thing I knew, I was being pushed into the lake. I fell face down into the knee-deep water and stood up quickly. I turned to Wood, fuming.

"You're lying," he said.

"I'm not. You had our whole house against him before he ever got a chance to explain. You must have told everyone what you thought happened, except with a new spin. Percy wasn't just sabotaging you, you said. No… he was against Gryffindor! I can't believe they fell for it, but you were part of the team, then," I said, climbing out of the freezing water. Then a better idea came into my head, and I took out my wand. "Wingardium leviosa!" I said.

Wood's feet flew from under him. I moved him effortlessly over the water and removed the charm.

He came out of the water, sputtering. "You little—"

"You asked for it, you—"

"I asked for it? This whole thing was your fault!"

"What?"

"That's right. You betrayed me. You took Percy's side, no questions asked. If you would've stuck by us both, we'd all still be friends now. If you'd been a good friend—"

"If I'd been a good friend? You didn't ask questions before turning the whole house against him. You didn't even think that your best friend wasn't trying to hurt you, just to help you?" I asked, crawling onto the large rock by the lake.

"Expelliarmus!" I said, before he could magic me back into the water. I caught his wand awkwardly, but I still caught it.

"You didn't ask questions before assuming I was just backstabbing him for no reason?" Wood asked, almost calmly, as he climbed out of the lake.

"It looked pretty bad. To Percy and me, it looked like you backstabbed him for no reason."

"And when the older Weasleys turned the tables on me? What about then? I was alone, Laura! Completely alone. No friends, no one to even talk to. No one! And you just watched from a distance."

"You had Quidditch."

"And Quidditch is still all I have," he said. "And now? Now what do I have? We lost that match against Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff!"

"You have friends. And you can still win that damned cup if you want to. With a little luck, and if you win the rest of your games, of course, but you can still win," I said, standing.

"Right. Slytherin would have to lose to someone besides us, and—"

"And Ravenclaw can beat them."

"And even if they did, we'd still probably have to beat Slytherin by over one hundred points," he finished, bitterly.

"Which you can with the team you have. The only reason you haven't won the cup yet is because Potter has some rotten luck."

"Rotten luck? If Potter had rotten luck, he'd be dead about three times over by now. At least."

I nodded, as this was true if rumors were correct. "You can still win if you put your team up to it," I said, climbing off of the rock. "Now look what you've done. We're both angry and wet."

I tossed him his wand. He caught it easily and pointed it at himself. "Repelio!" He was instantly dry.

I performed the same charm and tucked my wand into my pocket. "Are we going to work on this project?"

"I see no alternatives," he said.

"All right, then. There's still stuff we can get on the kinder parts of the grounds. You're sure you can't tell an oak from a spruce or a cedar?"

"No, I can't," he said.

"OK. We'll just have to take a stab in the dark, then," I said, walking up to the nearest tree without needles and tearing off some bark.

"I'm sorry I pushed you into the lake. It was an immature, impulsive thing to do," Wood said as if it pained him.

I nodded. "Yes, it was."

He waited. "That's it? 'Yes, it was'?"

I sighed, took a deep breath and said, "And I'm sorry for magicking you into the lake. It was a better way to do a very immature and impulsive thing."

Wood actually laughed. "I have a feeling that's the best I'm going to get, so I accept your apology."

"And I accept yours."

We walked on for a few more minutes.

"Good idea, by the way. Disarming me, I mean. I was debating between a spell that would make you extremely heavy, causing you to sink to the bottom of the lake, or a curse that would suffocate you, which would have been a less stylish approach to Plan A."

I looked at him, angrily and, realizing he was only kidding, smiled. "Thanks."

We got a few more things on the list. It took about an hour because the two of us were horrible at identifying plants. After running out of plants we thought we could find on the grounds, we were preparing ourselves for heading into the Forbidden Forest.

"We'll only go in a little way, right?" I asked.

"How am I supposed to know?" Wood said.

"You've never been in there?"

"Have you?" he asked.

"Of course not! Percy's my best friend. The forest is off-limits. Need I say more? But you—"

"Why would I go into the forest? I spend too much time flying."

I looked into the forest and laughed slightly. "Why did the Sorting Hat place us in Gryffindor, again?"

"No other house would take us?" Wood guessed.

"What does the Hat do if you don't fit in any house?" I asked, looking at him.

"I've heard you pick a number one through ten."

I laughed. "Let's just get this over with."

"Ladies first," Wood said, motioning towards the forest.

"Oh, you wimp," I said, not moving.

"Hey, I put myself in front of hurled Quaffles on an almost daily basis."

"A wimp that doesn't know he's a wimp. That's the worse kind of wimp there is."

"I don't see you walking in there," he said, starting forward.

"Just be the man of the situation, eh?" I said sarcastically.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he muttered, heading through the first row of trees. "We're in. So… this is it? Not much of a—"

"RAWRRRR!" I yelled, grabbing the back of his neck with my fingertips.

He yelled and spun around to find me doubling over with laughter.

"Oh, you will pay for that," he said, seemingly battling himself on whether he should be fuming mad or laughing hysterically with me.

"Oh will I? Maybe I should be the man of the situation."

"I still hate you, you know?" Wood asked.

"And I still hate you," I said, still laughing but not as forcefully.

"I just wanted to make sure we were still on the same page," he said, walking farther into the forest.

"We are."

We kept walking and the deeper into the trees we got, the darker it got and the more afraid I got.

"I don't know what we're looking for," I said, finally. We'd been walking for many minutes.

"You don't?"

"No."

"I was waiting for you to point something out!" he said.

"And I was waiting for you to point something out."

"Let's just get out of here."

"Scared?" I asked, smirking.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing.

"Where?" I asked, spinning around.

"Here," he hissed in my ear.

I screamed and spun back around, arms flailing.

He laughed, easily blocking my swings.

"Ass!" I said.

"You scared me first."

"We were on the edge of the forest then. I just want to get out of here. There must be a reason this place is forbidden, and I'm in no hurry to learn of it."

"Scared?" he mocked.

"Let's just say I'm a stage above hearing and seeing things and a stage below peeing my pants."

"Oh, thanks for that image." He paused. "Actually, it's kind of funny."

I laughed. "I'll tell you what. I'll run in that way, you run in the opposite way, and we'll see who gets out first," I said, pointing in front of us.

"Fine with me. You'll be running into the forest."

"What?" I asked.

"Hogwarts is that way," he said, pointing to someplace about ninety degrees left of where I had pointed.

"No. It's that way." I pointed again.

"You're crazy."

"Me?"

"Oh, this is stupid." He got out his wand. "Point me!" He paused. "We're both wrong. It's that way." He pointed to a place in between where we had been pointing.

"I was closer," I said, smiling.

"You were not. I clearly was closer to where—" He stopped when he saw my smirk. "McGonagall's right."

"How so?"

"We do have some childish issues."

"Yeah, well…." I started walking in the correct direction. "We also have some not so childish issues."

Wood didn't respond.

After about fifteen minutes of arguing with myself, I said, "I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry," I said, so he could hear me.

Wood didn't say anything.

"I should have been a better friend and heard you out, no matter how bad it looked. And I'm sorry."

He still didn't answer.

"You want to know the truth? It wasn't Percy who was jealous. It was me."

"You stole my—"

"No one stole your damned broom, Wood."

"Then why were you jealous?" he asked.

"Because while Percy was my best friend, and I was one of his… the truth is you were a better best friend for him."

"Why?"

"Come on. I was forced to be a sort of tomboy, and I wasn't good at it."

"No, you weren't."

I smiled a little. "I tried.

"We didn't care that you were a girl."

"No, but I did. But it was more than that. You two used to be… you used to be like Fred and George. Joan and Tara. Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. I was jealous because you were his best friend, except for Dan, and I wasn't."

"If things hadn't turned out the way the did, it wouldn't be like that now," he said.

I looked back at him. "Who's to say how things would have turned out?"

"Things didn't turn out so badly, did they?" he asked.

I faced forward again, to watch where I was going. "I don't know. I don't know how badly things would have turned out," I said, showing too much emotion.

"Percy will get used to having a girlfriend and will—"

"No, I don't think so."

"But before this year? Before Penelope?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said. "Bad stuff has happened. I was happy, for a while… I think."

"You think?"

"Yeah, I think I was."

"But you don't know?"

"Bad stuff happened," I repeated.

We kept walking , carefully, so we'd keep going in the same direction.

"I'm sorry," Wood said, eventually.

"You don't have anything to apologize to me for. Percy is—"

"No. I do owe you an apology for what I said earlier. To blame you for everything was unfair and incorrect."

"Not completely unfair."

"No, not completely. It was partially your fault."

"But not completely," I said.

"No."

"OK. Thank you."

He paused for a few minutes as we kept walking out of the forest. "When you said that bad things happened… did you mean… Dan?"

"Partially," I said.

He stopped walking and I turned to see why.

"I'm sorry about Dan. I wanted to tell Percy and you that, but…."

"I understand. Thanks."

"I got to know him in Quidditch. After the fight, well, he tried to talk me down. If I would have listened…."

"He wouldn't have died," I said quietly.

"What?" Wood asked.

"Nothing. Never mind," I said, starting to walk again.

"No, I heard you, I just didn't understand," Wood said, starting to follow. "What do you mean he wouldn't have died if I would have listened to him?"

"I didn't mean anything. Who's to say what would have happened had anything changed," I said, speeding up.

"No. What do you mean?" Wood caught up and walked in front of me.

"Just drop it, Wood."

"I can't!"

"Fine! Pester me until we die in here. I don't care."

"Laura, what did you mean?"

"Please drop it. It doesn't matter. He died and there is nothing we can do about it. Why worry over things that may have changed the past?" I said, walking past him.

He grabbed my arm. "You cannot just tell me that it is my fault that one of my friends died and drop it. You can't!"

"It's not your fault! It's mine!" I said, angrily. Realizing what I said, I shook my head fiercely. "I can't blame myself. It was no one's fault—"

"What do you mean?" Wood asked.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I need you to talk about it!"

"And I need you to drop it!"

"Damn it, this is more important than our stupid grudges against each other!"

"Then why can't you let it go?" I asked.

"You haven't!"

"And I never will, and you won't either if—"

"It is my fault, then! Oh, my G—"

"Shut up!" I said. "It is not your fault, and… just forget about it, Oliver. Please."

He opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. He raised his pointer finger to his mouth and turned his head a little.

I heard a little rustle from not far away. He must have heard it, too. We looked at each other for a second, turned towards the edge of the forest, and ran like hell.

"Can't you run any faster?" Wood asked, right on my heels.

"If I could, don't you think I would?" I panted. "If you want to go faster, then pass me."

"I can't just leave you out here."

"Why not?" I asked. "I would leave you."

"No, you wouldn't," he said. "But if you can't run any faster—"

"There's the edge!" I interrupted, gaining a tiny bit of speed.

The two of us broke out of the Forbidden Forest, but didn't stop running. After we were a few hundred feet from the edge, we slowed down to stop.

We turned to face the forest. "What do you think it was?" I asked.

"I'm not sure. It was big, though," he said, breathing deeply, but not gasping for air like I was.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Vampire?"

"We weren't that deep into the forest. Not to mention, a vampire would have attacked before we heard it. I heard a rumor about giant spiders."

"Giant spiders?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Give me a break," I said. "Maybe it was a centaur."

"Maybe. Wait… something's coming out of the woods."

We stood completely still, watching the shape become clearer, until….

"Hagrid?" I asked, smiling a little. "We ran from Hagrid? How embarrassing."

"What kind of Gryffindors are we?" Wood asked seriously.

I shrugged. "There are different types of bravery, I guess. Some people can face death. Some people can face life."

Wood nodded. "And which one can we face, again?"

"I think it's fair to say that we can't face death," I said, laughing slightly.

"But how are we at facing life?" he asked, maybe speaking to himself more than to me.

I looked up at him and, for the first time in five years or more, I tried to see him. "Nobody's perfect," I said, finally.

He laughed. "After all of the shit we've put ourselves through, I think we've done a decent job at facing life."

"Maybe. Wood, listen. Dan tried to talk me down, too. A few weeks before he died, we got into a big argument over why the two of us hate each other. I didn't listen either."

"What did Dan say?" Wood asked. He seemed to really care, which I found surprising, though I shouldn't have. Dan had been nice to Oliver when the rest of the Weasleys were turning everyone else against Oliver for a month or so.

"He said that we hated each other because we thought we had to. He said that maybe we did have to for some reason."

"What did he mean by that?"

"I'm not quite sure, but Dan did think that everything happened for a reason."

"What reason could there be for the three of us making each other miserable? Or for Dan dying so young, for that matter?"

I looked down and decided to ignore the latter part. "Maybe, if we were all still friends, I would have tried to fly a broom again and actually hit the owlery," I tried to joke. He didn't laugh. "I don't know if I even believe that everything happens for a reason."

"When you said that it was my fault—"

"I never meant it. I wasn't prepared for the subject, and I never would have said it had I been thinking… not even to you. A lot of things could have changed what happened that morning, but you weren't one of them."

"You were there, weren't you?"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," I said, trying to smile so he wouldn't take it personally.

He looked away.

"Did things turn out all right for you? Overall?" I asked after a minute.

He thought for a second and nodded. "They turned out all right," he said, looking back in my direction.

I smiled. "I'm glad. I wish we would have talked years ago. It would have made it easier for us to just forgive each other, then."

"Probably."

"We'd have been friends within a week if we'd have made better decisions."

"Probably," Wood said again, more slowly.

"And what's the difference between a week and a few years?" I asked, half seriously.

"About five years minus one week," Wood answered.

I sighed. "You don't understand," I said, mainly to myself.

"Understand what?"

"I don't know," I said.

He shook his head and started walking towards the castle. "It's late. We probably missed lunch."

"You don't understand that we've fought for years over nothing," I said quickly. I walked to catch up with him and he stopped begrudgingly. "You don't understand that I am sorry for what happened, but that I can't change it. You don't understand that I need your forgiveness right now." I knew I should shut up, but I couldn't. "You don't understand that we could still have been friends if the fight hadn't happened, but, more than that, we could still be friends despite the fight. You said you were completely alone after the fight. That's me now, Oliver. Except I don't even have Quidditch. If you wanted me to pay, I have. I am."

He started walking again.

"That's it? No response?"

"None."

I hurried to catch up again. "I thought you could face life. Right now, I'm part of what life is throwing at you."

"And I plan on dodging it so it won't hit me," he said coldly.

"It's going to hit you, all right," I muttered and getting in his path.

He tried to get past me, but I countered all of his attempts.

"What?" Wood asked, eventually giving up.

"I'm not that easy to dodge, am I?"

"No, and it's quite annoying."

"That's life. Do you think if you just ignore me, that I'll go away?"

"I was hoping so, yes," Wood said.

The same cold, apathetic hatred that he usually directed at me was back. I still knew enough about him to know that any further conversation was pointless.

I looked up at him and nodded. "OK," I said quietly. I turned my back on him and walked back to the castle, using all of my self-control not to cry or get noticeably angry.

Author's note: So, that was Chapter Two. Upset because the fight was over something so stupid? So are the characters. Think the fight is the only reason that everyone is holding a grudge? Not entirely. Again, there was no real cliffhanger, so we'll put it down here. Coming up in Chapter Three: What will happen when Percy finally hears what the fight was all about? And who will take the initiative in starting to repair the damage?

P.S.: I proofread these things a few times, but some errors are sure to escape my detection. See an error that really bugs you? Let me know and I can fix it. Thanks.


	3. Rows and Reconciliations

**Chapter 3: Rows and Reconciliations**

After releasing some fury by stomping up to the Gryffindor common room (after making sure Wood had not followed me inside), I released some more fury by stomping through the common room and up to my dormitory.

Joan was digging through her trunk. She looked up and smiled. "Hi."

"Hi," I responded flatly.

She frowned. "Something wrong?"

"Did you really think that one afternoon of trying to find bizarre plants in the Forbidden Forest would make a difference?" I asked angrily, dropping down onto my bed.

"You know I set you up?"

"It was pretty easy to figure it out."

"I'm sorry. I thought… maybe if you just yelled at each other for a while then you'd get it out of your systems."

"There's more to it than that." I picked up my pillow and threw it across the room at the closed door. "It's him that's the problem."

"Oh?"

"I practically begged him to forgive and forget." I closed my eyes. "God, what was I thinking? And, you know, it's not the forgive part that's his problem. Or mine. We can't forget. We can't forget every single little thing that we did to each other for five years."

"Maybe with some time—"

"It won't matter. I have one more memory to add to the list, now," I spat.

"I'm sorry, Laura."

"And it's never been about Wood and I. Percy and Wood are the ones who really need to yell at each other and… they'll never forgive each other."

"How do you know?"

"Because Percy still holds a grudge against me for accidentally hexing him in Charms during our third year. He never forgets anything. And he rarely forgives anyone."

"Oliver holds grudges, too," Joan said.

"Obviously," I muttered.

"Still… what harm would there be in making it so they had to talk about what happened during second year?" Joan asked, smiling slightly.

I sat up quickly. "You just don't learn, do you?" I asked.

"No," Joan said. "And if the three of you—"

"Joan, stop. I don't know why you care all of a sudden, but you're making everything worse."

She looked a little hurt, but I wasn't in a very sympathetic mood.

"The whole thing is so stupid, and you're miserable because of it," she said.

"I'm not miserable," I said, wondering if it was the truth.

She nodded and I could tell she thought I was lying. "Would you like to come downstairs with me?"

"No, I have some homework."

"There's nothing Oliver can do—"

"But that would be letting him win," I interrupted.

She laughed. "I can talk to him if you want."

"I'd rather you didn't," I said as seriously as I could.

She nodded. "Then I won't. But think about having Percy and Oliver talk to each other."

"I will," I lied quickly, so I could have the room to myself.

She left and I took my Transfiguration book out of my book bag, to try to find a way out of failing the project McGonagall had assigned. Wendy Lowe's letter to Adam fell into my lap. I picked it up, groaned, and placed it on my nightstand.

I looked up some plants from the Transfiguration book in my Herbology book and marked them, so I'd be able to get those plants the next day. I kept looking at the letter on the nightstand.

"Oh, hell," I said to myself after a couple of hours, picking the letter up and standing. "I just have to hand it to Adam and walk away. No talking. No yelling."

I walked downstairs and looked over to the Seventh Years' area of the common room. They were all gathered in their tight group. I walked over to the group and handed Adam the letter.

He took it, looking questionably at me.

"Wendy," I said, pretending to whisper but making sure all of them heard me.

He nodded and tucked it in his cloak while the rest of the Seventh Years laughed.

"Where's Oliver?" Mark asked.

I looked at him. "What do you mean?" I'd been expecting Wood to be there and didn't even notice that he wasn't.

"You didn't kill him, did you?" Cedar asked, smiling.

I furrowed up my brow slightly. "He didn't come back in?"

"We haven't seen him. We assumed he was just pissed off at you and wasn't coming into the common room in case you were in here," Adam said.

"He's probably in the Quidditch stadium," I said, shrugging. "I haven't seen him since I came inside."

"You didn't come inside together?"

"No."

"We're not supposed to be outside after dark alone because of Black," Tara said, looking worried.

I looked out of the window and realized that I must have spent more time on Transfiguration than I'd though. "When's dinner?" I asked.

"About a quarter past an hour ago," Adam said. "She obviously cares deeply about where he is."

"Have any of you checked the Quidditch stadium?" I asked.

"No," they all said.

"Why don't you? You left him out there alone," Rose said.

"He wouldn't have come inside with me if I'd threatened him with all three Unforgivable Curses," I snapped.

Joan stood up. "I'm going to find him."

"Good luck with that" I said, turning to go back upstairs.

"Who's going to go with me? I can't go out there alone," she said.

No one said anything.

"What kind of friends are you?" I asked, turning back towards the people still sitting.

"Look who's talking," Mark muttered.

I ignored him. "Well?" I asked them.

They all just looked back up at me.

I sighed. "I'm sure he's fine." But looking over at Joan, I was pretty sure that wasn't going to do. "Mark, go check the Owlery. Tara, go with Adam to check places like bathroom, classrooms, the kitchens, etc. Cedar and Rose, stay here in case he comes back. I'll go with Joan to check the Great Hall and then the Quidditch stadium."

Tara stood up to head off, but the boys just looked at me.

"Why should we listen to you?" Adam asked.

"Because I'm worried about him, OK? Now, go," Joan said.

They all stood up and we walked out of the common room. We split up to check our assigned areas. When Joan and I were about halfway to the marble staircase, Percy came into sight. He was walking slowly back to the common room.

"Come with us," I said, once we were close enough to talk in normal voices.

"Why?" Percy asked, turning and following the two of us. "Something wrong?"

"Joan seems to think so," I said.

"Oliver's missing," she said.

"So?" Percy asked.

"So, we're seeing if he's in the Quidditch stadium," Joan said.

"Why are you going, Laura?" Percy asked.

"Because everyone else has other places to check," I said, simply.

We checked the Great Hall to find it empty, so we headed outside and towards the stadium.

"What happened this afternoon," Percy asked. "Put Wood in his place?"

"If his place was in the lake, maybe," I said blandly.

Percy laughed. "Did you even talk?"

"A little," I said. "I'd say there was more yelling than talking."

"Good for you."

"Thanks for your support," I muttered.

"I thought you'd enjoy a good opportunity to yell at him," Percy said.

"So did I."

"And you didn't?"

"No. Look, let's just make sure he's not dead, and then I can finish my homework."

"Fine. Not that I care if he's alive or not, but I don't want you two to get in trouble for leaving the building alone."

"You want the three of us to get into trouble?" Joan asked.

"I can get us out of a detention, if it comes down to that."

I rolled my eyes, but didn't respond. We walked silently through the dark, our hands positioned just above our wands. I was relieved to reach the Quidditch stadium. I am comfortable enough with who I am to admit that I am scared of the dark. Especially out in the open with a serial murderer on the loose, so just having walls around me made me feel better.

"I don't see him," Percy said.

"We're barely inside yet," Joan snapped, as we kept walking. When we reached the center of the field, she said, "I don't see him."

"Too bad," Percy said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Maybe he's in the locker room," I said, walking towards the far wall.

Joan followed me and Percy, who was muttering about the cold, followed her. We walked through an archway that led to the locker rooms, and, as none of us had been back there, we stopped.

"Which one is Gryffindor's?" I asked.

"They aren't marked?" Percy said. He took his wand out. "Lumos!"

He shined his wand on the four doors in the area. There were no markings of any kind to say if they were even locker rooms.

"We can always just look in each one," Joan said.

"How are we to know one of those rooms doesn't contain every Bludger gone bad in Hogwarts' history?" Percy asked. "Plus, the other houses wouldn't take kindly to us snooping around their locker rooms."

"How else will we know if he's in one of the rooms?" Joan asked.

One of the doors opened, allowing some light to come out for a few moments, before it was closed again, and there were four people standing in the little passageway.

Percy cast his light on the figure immediately.

"I was looking forward to looking in the rooms, too," I said.

The fourth person lit up his wand and cast it on all of us. "I thought you were going to leave me alone," Wood said, eventually keeping his wand fixed on me.

"We didn't know where you were. We wanted to make sure you were all right," Joan said. She lit her wand as well, and there was enough light for all of us to see each other.

"They drug me out here," Percy said, emotionlessly.

"They shouldn't have," Wood said.

Joan was looking at me fixedly. I cocked my head a little, and she smiled slightly again. I shook my head as much as I could without it being noticeable, but she ignored me.

"Laura wanted you both to hear something," she said.

My jaw dropped a little. "I don't."

"You do," she said.

"No."

"Then I'll tell them—"

"Tell them what?" I interrupted.

"What are you two carrying on about?" Percy asked.

I looked at him and frowned. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Joan asked.

"If anything, it should be those two that have something to say to each other," I said, trying to get out of that situation but making things worse.

"Forget it," Wood said. "There's nothing to say."

"What?" Percy asked.

"They want us to try to solve our problems. To shake hands and make up," Wood said, angrily.

"Why would they want that?" Percy asked, looking at me.

I looked back at him. "Wood thought you stole his broom. That's why he told everyone what he did. It was all just a misunderstanding."

"You thought I stole your damn broom? That piece of shit wasn't worth stealing!" Percy said, turning on Wood.

"If you hadn't been jealous of me, I wouldn't—"

"Jealous of you? Why would I be jealous of you?" Percy asked.

"Because I was the one succeeding and—"

"And I was well on my way to become a Prefect."

"Would you let me finish one though, you big-headed, back-stabbing oaf?"

"If you had a halfway intelligent thought to finish, I wouldn't have to interrupt you, you bone-headed, back-stabbing-me-first, moronic dope!"

"You stole my—"

"Can we please get past that broom?" I interrupted.

"If he just would have told me he was taking it—"

""It was going to be a surprise!" Percy said.

"Why?" Wood asked. "Why would you want to surprise me?"

"Because I wanted you to make the team!"

"I didn't need a better broom—"

"I was trying to be nice."

"You didn't have to be nice!" Wood yelled.

"This argument is so stupid!" I yelled. Percy and Wood looked at me. "Would you two just forgive each other?"

"Why should I forgive him?" Percy snapped.

"Because she wants a friend," Wood said.

"What?" Percy asked me.

"She practically begged me to be her friend this afternoon," Wood said. "It you wouldn't have ditched her—"

"Shut up!" I interrupted. I shook my head at him. "Screw you, Wood."

"It's not the truth?" he asked.

"Laura?" Percy asked.

I looked at him. "Screw you, too, Percy. You know what? I don't care if you blame me for what happened, Wood. And I don't care if you never talk to me again, Percy. Go ahead and move into Ravenclaw with Penelope, for all I care. You think I failed you, Wood? No… you both failed me. You failed me and you failed each other. And who pays for it? Me. Me! Wood gets Quidditch, and Percy gets Head Boy and a girlfriend? What do I get? Left behind. This argument is your problem, now. I don't want it. And I don't want anything to do with either of you."

No one said anything for a few seconds. I shook my head and turned to leave.

"Laura—" Percy started.

"It's my turn to ditch you, now, Percy," I snapped, walking away from them.

Joan hurried to catch up. "Laura—"

"No."

"How do you know what I—"

"No."

"I just wanted to say I was sorry for—"

"You just couldn't let it go, could you? Why did you have to get involved? Yesterday, I at least had Percy as a friend in name, and I wasn't fighting with Wood. I never asked for you to butt into my business," I said, brushing tears off of my cheeks.

"I know. I thought I could help. I thought if you all knew the truth about what happened during your second year that…."

"That it would erase everything we've done to each other in the five years since then?" I asked.

"I never meant to make things worse," Joan said, wiping her own eyes.

"Why did you even care?" I asked.

"I don't know." She sighed. "I just do care. I can't help it," she finished angrily.

I sighed, too. "I know," I said, bitterly. "Luckily for you, I don't have enough anger left to be mad at you for trying to help." I wiped my eyes again.

"Really?" she asked.

"Don't make me question it," I said.

"OK," she said, quickly.

I laughed a little, despite myself.

We walked out of the Quidditch stadium and started heading towards the castle. We could clearly hear Wood and Percy yelling at each other, but I was tired of listening to them, and their words brushed right over me.

"Maybe you gave up too quickly," she said.

I snorted. "They gave up, not me. Wood gave up five years ago. Percy gave up last year. And now it's my turn."

"You didn't give either one of them a second chance, though," Joan said.

"I'm giving myself a second chance! I want to have friends. I want to be happy for the first time in five years!"

"You seemed happy before…."

"It was always about Percy and Wood," I said, just ranting now. "Always. Even when Percy was off with Penelope, it was still about Percy and Wood."

Joan didn't answer. Maybe she was finally afraid to try to help anymore.

By the time we got back to the common room, I'd stopped crying. The rest of the Seventh Years were back and looked up at us nervously.

"Where's Oliver?" Tara asked.

"The Quidditch stadium?"

"You left him again?" Cedar asked.

"Yes," I said, simply.

There was a little pause. "Well, is he OK?" Tara asked.

I thought a second. "Hard to say, really. We left him with Percy, so… I don't think they'd kill each other. They may put each other in the Hospital Wing but—"

"What's Percy doing there?" Rose asked.

"He came with us," Joan said.

Another small pause. "To make sure Wood was OK?" Mark asked, skeptically.

"Hard to say, really. Look, I'm going upstairs to finish the homework I should have done by now. Have a nice night," I said, leaving before anyone could ask any more questions. If Joan told them exactly what happened, I didn't care. I just didn't care anymore.

I woke up the next morning, and, realizing that I was still alive and that it was the start of another miserable day, I groaned and drug myself out of bed and into the shower.

All of the Gryffindor girls shared a bathroom. You got used to it after a while. After I got dressed quickly in the shower stall, I stepped out and walked over to the sinks, where there were girls lined up, brushing their teeth and performing charms on the rest of their faces to try to improve their appearances. I wasn't much of a makeup person and barely made any attempt to make my hair look nice, either.

"Hey."

I looked in the mirror at the girl next to me and attempted to smile. "Hi, Ginny."

"You look nice today," she said.

I looked in the mirror. The truth was that I looked tired and… pathetic, really.

"Thanks," I said, anyway.

"How are you?" she asked, looking at me instead of my reflection.

I thought about this for a few seconds. "Not sure, to be honest. You?"

"Oh, I'm all right, I guess."

"Still in love with Potter?" I asked.

She looked down into the sink and spat.

I sighed. "I'm sorry. Just because I'm in a bad mood doesn't give me any right to—"

"It's OK," she interrupted.

I smiled at her reflection as I turned the faucet and put my toothbrush under the running water.

"I heard about what happened last night in the Quidditch stadium."

"I didn't expect any differently," I said.

"Percy's getting out of the Hospital Wing tomorrow. Wood's getting out not long after that," she said.

I turned and mumbled, "Wha'?" With a toothbrush in your mouth, it's hard to enunciate.

She smiled. "I'm kidding. But you cared! You cared about what happened to them."

I kept brushing my teeth and turned my attention back to the mirror.

Ginny looked down into the sink again. "I don't blame you for what you did."

"Huh?"

"Percy deserved to hear the truth."

I rinsed out my toothbrush and put it back in my little bag. "I still don't quite understand."

"That he was never a good friend," Ginny said. "You were there for him through it all, but he never really was there for you, especially during the past few months."

I played with the zipper on the bag for a minute before answering. "He was a good friend, Ginny. I know that you look at him as being boring and strict, but there's more to him than what meets the eye. His ambitions interfere with his judgment sometimes, but his ambitions also make him… a good influence."

Ginny laughed. "A good influence? Well, I can't argue with that. Still, a good influence? Boring."

I laughed. "You brother has lost a lot. He gave up on this part of his life and made his future… everything."

"You mean he lost Dan?" Ginny asked.

I nodded.

"We all lost Dan," she said, softly.

I nodded again.

"But we didn't turn out like Percy."

"You're being pretty hard on him. He lost two best friends in a few years. Then there's the stress of being a Prefect and Head Boy."

Ginny laughed. "Stress? He loves it."

I laughed, too. "OK. How about the stress of having two brothers who are trying to bring Armageddon to Hogwarts a little early, a brother who's best friends with You-Know-Who's most-wanted and a little sister who's already had one too many encounters with the Dark Arts?"

She didn't answer.

"Add that to the stress of being in a big family?"

"I get your point," she said.

We walked out of the bathroom and down into the common room together.

"Laura, if you think so highly of him, then why don't you want to be his friend?" Ginny asked.

I looked at her. She was only twelve, but I never really saw her as being a lot younger than me. Maybe because I acted twelve most of the time. "Because everything you said is true to a point, too," I said, laughing a little.

She nodded, spotted some friends and walked away.

I sat down in a big chair near the fire. I usually got ready for school about an hour before I went down to breakfast, so there wouldn't be a crowd in the bathroom. It gave me time to finish homework and wake up before classes.

Potions was awful, but I wasn't expecting a picnic. Charms went fine. I liked Charms. I was good at them. After class, I went up to my bedroom to get the containers for Transfiguration and headed for the grounds.

Wood headed me off at the entrance. "Let me help."

I frowned and walked around him, out of the common room.

"You can't do the project alone," he said, following me.

"No." I turned around. "Here," I said, handing him half of the bags.

"What do you want me to get?"

"If it's in the Forbidden Forest, then you can get it. We'll forget about the caves."

"Look, I went through this stuff last night, and I think we can get enough plants on the regular grounds without going into—"

"I know that." I held up my Herbology book. "I've got all of the plants we need marked in this."

He smiled a little.

I kept frowning.

"Let's just get the damn plants. Then you can go right back to pretending that I don't exist, OK?" Wood said, starting to walk down the hallway.

"Fine," I said, following.

We walked out of the castle and started making our way around it, to the back.

"Did you enjoy making your little spectacle last night?" Wood asked.

My face had to have clearly shown my disgust. "You know what? I did. It's about damn time you two realized that you weren't only affecting each other by hating each other."

"And you think you're completely blameless?"

"No, but I'm a hell of a lot less to blame than you two."

"Maybe that's true but do you think you can just declare yourself out of this whole thing? You think this is just a game, that you can stand up and quit?"

"I'm not quitting, Wood! Percy and you quit. I'm cleaning up the game and putting it back into the closet. I was the last one who tried to play the game."

"Life isn't a game!"

"It is! Anything where people play to win is a game. I lost one game, and I'm not setting myself up for another loss."

"You think you were the only one to lose that game?"

"You two turned out all right in the end. That's winning."

"No, it isn't!"

"Then what is it?"

"It's not a game! It's life! You're the one who said you have to face it."

"But you wanted it to go away. You wanted me to just go away, so I agreed to it. Last night, I was doing Joan a favor. That's it. After this project, I plan on leaving you alone."

"And Percy?"

"And Percy."

"And who will be your friends, then?"

"There are only a few more months left of school. After that, I can start over."

"Wizards make their friends for life in Hogwarts."

"Then I'll go back to the Muggle world."

"And just turn your back on—"

"Turn my back on the world that turned its back on my first?" I turned to face him. "What do you care? Why can't you leave me alone? Isn't that only fair?"

"You weren't there after you left last night."

"No kidding? There's a profound statement."

"You never told Percy how you felt. You expected him to read your mind and—"

"He should have known that he ditched me! It doesn't take a rocket scientist."

"…and he was too preoccupied to try to read your mind," Wood continued. "Penelope was the first good thing to come around in years. When Percy ditched you, it came slowly. You had time to adapt. What you did to him last night was sudden and unexpected. How would you react—"

"Why do you care? Since when do you stand up for Percy?"

Wood ignored me. "How would you react if your best friend said she never wanted anything to do with you ever again, out of no where?"

I didn't respond. I bent over and pulled up a flower I recognized from the Herbology book and stuffed it into a bag.

"Do you end a friendship over one thing?"

"You did," I spat, looking up at him. "You ended two."

"Don't end three." He looked me in the eyes.

I looked away from him. "I've never been a good friend. I've tried. God knows I have tried, but I always end up—"

"You can't change what happened during our second year, but it's not too late to change what happened last night."

I looked up at him again. "Why are you trying to help me?"

He frowned a little more and shrugged. He pulled some of the last leaves left on a tree we were walking under and put them into one of the bags I'd given him.

"You don't just grow a conscious overnight."

"I've always had a conscious. I just decided to apply it to you today. Don't expect it to become a habit."

I smiled slightly. "Did Percy get to you?"

"No."

"Yeah, right. I wasn't there after I left. That's what you said. He didn't make you cry or anything, did—"

"No!"

"Because I would have stuck around if there was going to be a cry-fest."

"There wasn't any bloody crying."

"No? I'll have to try a little harder next time, then."

"Like you could make us cry," he said.

I shrugged and looked down. "I wouldn't be so sure, Oliver."

"Oliver? Whenever you say my name, it means you really mean it."

"I do mean it."

"Dan?" he asked, quietly.

"You may not be my favorite person, but I don't want to make you cry," I said, dodging the subject.

"Why not? I would think it would give you some pleasure."

"You want to make me cry?"

"No."

"See?" I asked.

"You're rather ugly when you cry."

I faked a smile and nodded. "You're funny."

He laughed. "I'm kidding."

"And that makes it nicer?"

"I'm sorry."

"I doubt that."

"Are you going to patch things up with Percy or not?"

"Of course," I said after a few seconds. "Thanks, Oliver. I mean, Wood."

"Let's get some plants."

I nodded.

We worked on the project for about an hour before it started getting dark. We decided that by the time we walked back to the castle, we wouldn't be able to identify an oak from a pine tree and that we had enough plants to pass the project, at least.

"Thank you for pointing out to me that Gryffindor can still win the Cup," Wood said, out of no where, about halfway back to the castle.

"What brought that up?"

"Me."

I smiled. "I want Gryffindor to win as just as much as the next guy… who's in Gryffindor. Even if I do think that Quidditch and all other sports are pointless."

"It's not pointless."

"No? Give me one reason Hogwarts should have such a dangerous pastime. Things are dangerous enough in this world. Azkaban can't even keep us safe."

"Hogwarts has Quidditch to give people like me something to be. It lets people like me succeed."

"You're a good enough wizard."

"But that doesn't make you well-known. Quidditch makes me… someone."

"Well… I never hated you for Quidditch, so that must not be who you are."

"Thanks a lot."

"You're welcome."

"Anyway, thank you for supporting Gryffindor, then."

"You're welcome," I said more sincerely. After a minute, I added, "That's why you told me to make up with Percy, isn't it? To be even?"

"Yeah."

I looked down, partially because it was getting pretty dark out and I couldn't see very much of the ground in front of me. "Lumos!"

Wood lit his wand, and we walked the rest of the way back to the castle in silence. After we got inside, I went straight to the Great Hall. Percy was sitting at the end of the table, alone.

I walked over and sat down next to him. "Hi."

Percy didn't acknowledge my presence.

"Percy, I'm sorry for saying that I didn't want anything to do with you. I didn't mean it. I was only angry."

"Jealous of Penelope?" Percy asked coolly.

"I'm trying to apologize."

He looked at me.

"I guess, in some ways, I was jealous of Penelope. My best friend suddenly ditches me for some girl. Percy, you're angry, and I understand that, but you hurt me. You ditched me."

He didn't say anything and looked down at his plate.

"I want to be your friend, but you have to be a friend. Girlfriends will come and go, and, as your best friend, I'll probably hate all of them because they take some of our time away from me, but for them to take all of our time away from me is not fair."

"I didn't even notice that you were hurt."

"I didn't want you to notice. I didn't want to say anything, but last night, I was so tired of everything."

"You should have said something sooner," Percy said.

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

I smiled. "I know you are. Will that matter?"

"I still want to spend time with Penelope."

"And I still want you to spend time with her. I just want a friend again, Percy."

He nodded and I smiled a little more.

"So… do you love her, or what?" I asked.

He laughed. "That's… possible."

I smiled. "Does she love you?"

"I think so."

"Good. But, Percy?"

"Yes?"

"Just don't forget that I love you, too… just differently."

He looked at me and smiled, blushing a little. "Same here."

"What? Afraid to say it?"

"Yes."

I laughed. "I'm glad we talked."

"Me too."

"How are Bill and Charlie?"

"Alive. I don't really know, other than that," he said.

"And your parents?"

"Happy. They like it when we go off to school."

"And you?"

"I'm good. You?" he asked.

"I'm good, too, now."

_Author's Note_: Once again, no cliffhanger. The truth is that I hate cliffhangers. They just are not natural places for a chapter break. Think of this story as being on the sitcom schedule. Each chapter is a small piece of the plot, with its own small problem, but the problem comes to some sense of closure at the end. So, I guess the final author's note in each chapter is like the previews for the next episode…. Next week, on _Do Be My Enemy for Friendship's Sake_ (That would make a kick-ass soap opera title.), while Laura's relationship with Percy remains the same, her relationship with the rest of the Seventh Years starts changing.

P.S. Please review! I can't make this story better without feedback.


	4. Fears of Fate

_Author's note_: This chapter is kind of a transition chapter. It's mainly a few conversations for the purpose of showing relationships changing better than a paragraph about time passing and things changing could.

**Chapter 4: Fears of Fate**

A week or so passed. Wood and I passed our Transfiguration project with an eighty percent. Percy and I spent some time hanging out. Penelope was there about half of the time. It was better than before, but I felt awkward and unwanted. Still, I was happier.

And, over the next few weeks, I gradually stopped visiting Penelope with Percy, and Percy was gone more. It still wasn't like before. Percy made more of an effort not to forget about me, but it hurt that he had to make an effort.

I was walking down the hallway one Friday, heading out to the lake, even though it was cold, when I heard my name being called. I turned to see Wood walking towards me.

"Something wrong?" I asked after he caught up. I kept walking towards the front doors and he followed.

"No. You made up with Percy."

"So you don't owe me anything for telling you that stuff about the Cup. If anything, I owe you, OK?"

"Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"No kidding?"

He ignored my sarcasm. "You don't owe me anything for anything."

I looked at him, suspiciously. "Why not?"

"Because I don't owe you anything."

"OK. Why did you want to talk to me, again?"

"Look, do you want to go to Hogsmeade with us Seventh Years tomorrow, or not?"

I didn't answer. We had reached the oak doors and I turned to face Wood.

"The girls want you to come with us, and I was nominated to ask."

The suspicion on my face showed even more.

"Are you coming with us?" he asked, impatiently.

"Sure. Thank you," I said, slowly.

He nodded and walked off down another corridor. I went to the lake and sat down on a big rock beside it. I liked to look out over the ice in the winter. We were forbidden to walk on it because, in a magical lake, the ice is sometimes only an illusion, and it's impossible to tell if it is or not without sending someone out onto it."

"'ey, Laura."

I turned to see Hagrid carrying two large bags of something. I stood. "Hi, Hagrid. Need some help?"

"No, I've got this. Could ya come with me t' open a door, though?"

"Of course," I said, following him.

"I noticed you an' Percy 'ave been together more."

"Yes, a little. Hey, I've heard from some people that you took my advice on teaching the older students with some pretty cool creatures. The younger students aren't as happy."

"The younger students need a little trainin'."

"Perhaps you're right."

"Course I am. I'm a professor."

I smiled. "That you are, Professor Hagrid."

He chuckled. "Just call me 'agrid. I don' need a title t' impress anyone."

"You have a wonderful personality for that, eh?" I teased.

He laughed again. "I couldn't 'elp but notice yeh was spending more time with Oliver Wood."

I blew some air out of my nose. "Through matters out of my hands."

"Ne'ertheless, yer both still alive. More than most folks would've expected."

"Hagrid, do you hate anyone that you really don't know why you hate them, you just do because you always have?"

Hagrid thought for a few seconds. "I don't hate many people."

"No, but have you ever?"

"Sure. I've never been extremely fond of Filch."

"You have a reason for that, though," I said, smiling up at him.

"Why do yeh ask?"

"It's not like you can just stop hating someone, though, even if the reasons for hating them have gone away."

"Why not?"

"Because it's only fair if I hate him back!"

"Yeh wouldn' be talkin' 'bout Wood, now, would ya?"

"I'm speaking hypothetically."

"Oh. Right."

"And if this hypothetically-speaking person just so happens to answer to the name Wood, so be it," I added.

"'ere we are. Just open this 'ere door, please," Hagrid said, as were were standing in front of a shed near the greenhouses.

I did and stepped back so that Hagrid could get in easily. He placed the bags down and walked back outside, brushing his hands together.

"Thanks," Hagrid said.

"Welcome."

He looked down at me, hitting me with a more piercing look than I'd have thought his kind eyes could muster. He put a hand on my shoulder gently and pushed me slightly so I'd start walking with him.

"One o' the biggest debates in the wizardin' world is on whether er not people are subject to fate er destiny. Many a duel was started 'cause of it. Personally, I'm a little on both sides."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, people can't control things all that well. If yeh were t' just look at th' surface o' people, then yeh'd have no problems believin' that they were bein' guided by some sort o'… force. But then I see people do great, kind things, and I see people do terrible things."

"Couldn't that be fate?"

"No, Laura. People make decisions t' do great or terrible things. People make choices, an' nothin' but those people controls 'em. 'Control yer own destiny.' That's what me dad used t' say. Do ya understand?"

"I think so, but I'm not sure what point is supposed to be coming out of the lesson."

"Fate is just what people call it when there isn' an explanation for it. Why did I have to get kicked out o' 'ogwarts? Why did I have to find Aragog? Fate. See?"

"Yes, but, again… why are you telling me this?"

"All I'm sayin' is that yeh can't help what brought about yer hate fer this hypothetical Oliver Wood. That's fate. But yeh do have a decision t' make."

I didn't answer.

"Hate's a mighty strong emotion, Laura. Do yeh really hate 'im?"

"I disliked him pretty strongly."

"Yeh can get past that. Ya look cold. Go on back inside, now. Thanks, again," Hagrid said, walking away.

I watched his back for a minute before taking his advice and going inside. I knew Hagrid had been through a lot, especially during what should have been his Hogwarts years. Hagrid knew what hate was. Hagrid knew a lot, despite being kicked out of school. Maybe that's why new knew so much.

The next day, I woke up early, as I had no idea what time Wood and Company wanted to leave. It was the Hogsmeade visit before Christmas, so it was bound to be crowded in every store. I put on some warm clothes and went down to the common room. About an hour later, the rest of the Seventh Years, minus Percy, were ready to head out.

"We're glad you could go," Joan said, as we walked out of the common room.

"Thanks for having Wood ask me," I answered, smiling.

She cocked her head a little but didn't say anything.

The eight of us left Hogwarts ground, and again, away from the eyes and ears of Hogwarts, we could be ourselves. The boys walked faster, and, once they were out of hearing distance, the conversations I almost never got to be a part of began.

"What would you want for Christmas if you were a seventh year Slytherin?" Rose asked.

"Brains?" Cedar asked.

All of us except Rose laughed. She was stalking Flint, who, like a good Slytherin, wanted nothing to do with a Gryffindor, no matter what she looked like or how pure her blood was.

"Poor Cedric," Tara said. "Dumped for a Slytherin."

"He was never my type."

"No?" I asked.

"No. Quidditch players… too caught up in other things. I need more attention," Rose said, smiling broadly.

"Flint's Slytherin's Quidditch captain," Joan said.

"Yes, but the Slytherins are smart enough to just cheat. It cuts down on so much practice."

The rest of us shook our heads, remembering all too clearly the years we'd watched Gryffindor fall to Slytherin's pathetic cheating.

"We've got a good team this year. We're sure to win," Cedar said.

"We've lost a game," Joan said.

"We can still win. Wood will be sure of it."

Rose groaned. "He's obsessed, poor guy."

"It's important to him," Joan said.

"Important and everything are two different things," Rose countered.

"Not always," I said.

They all looked at me, waiting.

I shrugged. "They're not always different." When they kept staring, I asked, "What?"

"Did she stand up for Oliver?" Cedar asked.

"No," I said.

"It's debatable," Tara said. "She could have been standing up for someone else."

"Yes," I agreed.

"Who?" Rose and Cedar asked.

I laughed. "Anyone else in general. I don't know."

"We weren't sure you'd want to come with us, with Oliver coming. Perhaps there's still a reason for us believing that," Cedar said.

I shrugged. "He seemed sincere."

"Huh?" Joan asked.

"When he asked if I wanted to come along. He said you wanted him to ask. I don't need him to say it's OK, you know."

The four of them were looking at each other.

"What?"

Joan looked at me, then away. "We didn't think you'd want to go with him, so we… didn't want to ask, because we didn't want to make you feel bad about saying no."

I didn't say anything for a few seconds before laughing quietly. "Oh, come off of it. Like Wood would ask me to come along, just… just nothing. He wouldn't."

"Which is why we're so confused," Tara said.

My smile started to vanish. "Well… you really didn't tell him to ask me?"

They shook their heads.

"Maybe I should head back. Something smells funny."

They nodded.

I laughed at their faces, which hadn't looked that confused since Snape hadn't given homework during our third year. "I was kidding… I think. Just… if he pulls his wand on me, we could easily take the guys."

"That's for sure," Cedar said, puffing out her chest slightly. "Bunch of girly-girls." not an Arnold joke. Written before that, I am almost positive

We all laughed and they forgot about it. I was too busy thinking about whether I should be watching my back or not to really get into any of the conversations on the rest of the way to Hogsmeade.

We five girls caught up with the boys in Zonko's. I was never really into pranks, but I enjoyed looking at the joke shop's selection. I was particularly amused by people around the store suddenly turning into canaries, although I couldn't find the product that caused it anywhere.

I needed to get a present for Percy, and I got him a book on the Ministry. I got a book about Muggle animals for Hagrid, as he's always turned up when I needed someone to talk to. And, while technically it was illegal for me to give magical gifts to my Muggle family, I did get my parents some magical candy that they could eat when I came home for the holidays.

The eight of us spent most of the day just walking from shop to shop. There were dozens. My favorite was a little shop that sold enchanted dust-collectors. Muggle dust-collectors are the stupid, ornamental things that sit on shelves and desks for years, untouched and rarely looked at. Their one function is to collect dust. Wizarding dust-collectors are ornamental things that sit on shelves and desks for years, untouched and rarely looked at, as well. Except these literally collect dust and save a lot of time that would be spent dusting surfaces. The other seventh years each got their mothers one.

We were all exhausted by the time we decided to go back to Hogwarts. The guys decided they'd walk us back. I was listening to the rest of them sing professional Quidditch teams' songs. I'd never been to any professional Quidditch matches to hear any of them, but they were all hilarious.

"The Whinging Weasels song—"

"Ginny!" I interrupted. I stopped in place. "I forgot to get Ginny Weasley a present."

"You get all of the Weasleys gifts?" Mark asked.

"No. I've gotten Ginny a gift every year for the past six years. She's the only girl and… well, her brothers have no idea what she would want, so I've always gotten her something. She used to be like my little sister over summer vacations. I have to go back," I said, turning around.

"We have to be back in an hour," Joan said.

I paused and shook my head. "It won't take me long. If I go back now, I'll have twenty minutes to get something for her. I'll see you back at the castle."

I turned and started walking quickly back to the wizarding town. After a few minutes, I heard footsteps right behind me. I turned my head, still walking, to see Wood catching up to me.

"I need to get Hagrid something," he said, quickly.

I slowed down so he'd catch up more quickly. "I didn't know you were friends with Hagrid."

Oliver laughed under his breath, slightly, but there wasn't any humor in it. "Hagrid befriends people who need him. He took me under his wing my second year."

I looked at Wood, but I wasn't looking at him. I'd never thought about it before. I knew Hagrid had befriended more students, but you never saw him with any of them. Hagrid had started talking to me the year before, when Percy had really started seeing Penelope all of the time.

"The thing is that once he makes a friend, he never loses one, so… Hagrid makes a lot of Christmas presents."

I kept walking in silence for a few minutes. I didn't like the thought of people feeling sorry for me. Espeically not Hagrid. Still….

"I talked to Hagrid yesterday," I said.

"I did, too," Wood said. He was still walking quickly. It wasn't easy to keep up, but, for some reason, I didn't want him to leave me behind.

"Can you slow down a little?" I asked.

"Why?"

"Because I want to talk to you, but you're walking so fast, I have to use my breath to keep up," I said.

He didn't say anything, but he did slow down enough that I could ease the pain I was starting to feel in my stomach from getting more exercise than I was used to.

"We talked about you," I said, quickly, not looking at him.

"Me?"

"Yes."

"What about me?"

I thought for a minute, deciding how to put what I wanted to say in the least amount of words possible because I didn't really want to be the one to say them.

"I forgot why I hated you. Well… forgot is the wrong word. Finding out why you did what you did five years ago… it was a stupid misunderstanding."

"Hagrid's known the whole story longer than we have."

"Yeah, that was just starting to dawn on me. We didn't talk about what happened five years ago."

"No. You don't hate me anyone and want to be friends, right?"

The way he put it made me immediately go into my defensive state.

"I may not hate you, but that doesn't make me want to be your friend," I snapped.

"Why?" he asked.

"You think because you're the Quidditch captain and good-looking, everyone wants to be your friend?" I asked.

He blushed slightly. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I meant, why shouldn't we be friends if we don't hate each other?"

"I-! What?"

"You weren't the only one to talk to Hagrid yesterday."

I blinked, shook my head, stopped, shook my head again because it didn't work the first time, and repeated that process once more.

"Are you OK?" Wood asked, looking at me strangely.

"Being friends with you is too close to admitting that I was wrong and stupid before."

"It's the same thing."

"See?"

"But I'm admitting the same thing. Come off it, Laura. Admit you were wrong and move on."

"I'm not even sure what I'm admitting that I was wrong about."

"For letting a misunderstanding come between a friendship. I'm guilty of the same thing."

I looked at him carefully. "You're serious about this whole thing?"

"Yes!"

"Then I was wrong."

He smiled. "I was wrong, too."

I didn't say anything the rest of the way to Hogsmeade. I wasn't only wrong five years ago. I'd been wrong about him longer than that.

We split up right away when we entered town. I headed towards some of the more popular stores with twelve year old girls. I mentally went through the gifts I'd already gotten her. When she was seven, I got her a toy wand. When she was eight, she got a package of Muggle makeup from me, and when she was nine, I got her a sweatshirt that had "My friend went to Hogwarts and all I got was this stupid jumper" printed on it. When she was ten, I got her some potions materials, which Mrs. Weasley practically banned me from the Burrow for. And the last year I had gotten her some clothes. A few were new, but most of them were hand-me-downs from me and my older cousins. I think that had been her favorite present from me.

But this year? I was drawing a blank. I'd thought about it before, but had always brushed it off when nothing came to me, thinking I'd have plenty of time to pick something out for her. How could I have forgotten Ginny?

I spent half of my twenty minutes in shops that I knew weren't right. I walked out of a large clothing store, and across the street was a beaten, worn-down looking building. I felt kind of sorry for it and walked over. Upon realizing it was a shop, I walked in.

I couldn't see anyone in there, but even had there been anyone, it would have been difficult to find them. It was a mirror shop. I wandered around, spellbound, looking at my reflection in them. In some I saw my reflection normally. In others I looked slightly older, slightly younger, slightly happier, slightly less happy… and in some, I didn't see my reflection at all, but places or things.

When I saw a person in one, I jumped back and almost knocked over a mirror. I spun around in time to catch it and sighed in relief. If you break a magical mirror, you really do get seven years of bad luck in return.

"Good save," I heard from behind me. I turned again, more carefully this time. The old man I had seen in the mirror was standing there, smiling kindly.

"I'm sorry," I said. "You scared me and—"

"It happens all of the time. Anyway, all of our mirrors are breakproof and are under a lifetime warranty, so if they do break, your seven years of bad luck will gladly be taken from you, and you will be given a refund," he said.

I was still too unnerved to respond to what he was saying. "I'm looking for a present for a friend, but I doubt that I could afford any magic mirror. I didn't know this shop existed. I just sort of… was drawn to it."

"Some people are drawn to mirrors," the old man said, smiling.

I turned to him, frowning. "I'm not shallow or—"

"Magical mirrors, darling," the man interrupted quickly. "I was in no way trying to imply that you are narcissistic."

"What did you mean, then?" I asked more kindly.

"I meant that mirrors… call certain people."

I looked around the store.

"Not all magic mirrors are expensive," the man said. "Would you like to see some inexpensive ones?"

I nodded, looking in one mirror at my house. "Sure."

The man started walking through the store, with me right behind him A few times I stalled, not sure which one was the man and which ones were merely his reflection.

And in a minute we reached a section with smaller mirrors.

"Have you found anything?" the man asked.

I opened my mouth to respond, but another voice came first.

"Yes, I believe I have," said Wood, as he walked around a shelf of mirrors. He stopped when he saw me.

"Good," the man said, smiling more genuinely now. "Which one have you selected?"

"This one," Wood said, holding up a round mirror that was about six inches in diameter.

"Ah… yes, that is a peculiar mirror, indeed. It shows creatures in it, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Wood said, looking into it. "Do you think Hagrid would like it, Laura?"

"I'm sure he'd love it," I said, feeling stupid about my book for him.

Oliver nodded. "I'll take it, then."

The old man said, "Thank you, sir. Laura, this area would be good for a gift for a young girl. I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't touch the surface of any mirrors, please."

"OK," I said, as he walked away. I realized that my time was ticking away, and I was probably already going to be a little late, but the mirrors were… calling to me.

When he came back a few minutes later, I had my mind made up. I pointed and said, "That one is right."

"It reflects people honestly," the man said. "Are you sure that would be right for your friend?"

I looked closely at my own reflection. It was reflecting me honestly? I looked tired. A little sad. Mainly passive.

"Yes. She's a good person and seeing that would make her feel better about herself," I responded, eventually.

"It's five Galleons," the man said.

"That's fine," I said, after a few seconds.

"Very well. You must be a good friend. Pick it up by the frame and follow me, please," he said, kindly.

I followed him to the back of the store, where he had a small cash register of some sort. He pressed a few keys, and, after taking my five Galleons, made the machine spit out a warranty certificate, which he sighed and had me sign as well.

"Thank you, miss," he said, handing me the mirror in a small box. The mirror was only about four inches across, but I knew Ginny would love it.

I walked out of the store to find Wood waiting for me. At first I went into defense mode, and then I remember he seemed to want to get along. The defense mode too a back burner to my try to be nice mode.

"We're going to be late," he said, simply, starting to walk.

"Yeah, well… what can they do to us?"

"Have you ever had a detention?" Wood asked, looking at me strangely.

"I don't get caught much."

"Well… then, don't think about what they can do to us. It only kills your nerves," he said, calmly.

"We're good kids. We'll just have to explain that we lost track of time."

"Together?"

I frowned a little. "We can say we just didn't want to walk alone after dark."

"Together?" he repeated.

"Together isn't alone."

"You don't quite understand. Do you realize how… us getting along has never really occurred to people."

"But the professors—"

"Are people."

"Dumbledore—"

"Isn't going to be the one to give us detention. McGonagall will be."

I winced slightly. "Well, she thinks we hate each other, so it's not like she'll think we were getting into any trouble together."

"Unless we were trying to kill each other, or something like that," Wood said.

I laughed a little. "We never hated each other that much."

"How much time do we have left before curfew?"

"Ten minutes, and it will take us three times that long to get to Hogwarts," I said.

"By foot," Wood said, looking at me, as we kept walking quickly.

"I don't see a train or car anywhere," I said.

"Accio Cleansweep Seven!" Oliver said, after he'd taken out his wand.

"Oh, so I can get detention alone. Great, Wood," I said.

"A Cleansweep can easily carry two people."

"And the professors will love that! Us flying over land that isn't Hogwarts grounds? We're going to have so many detentions… if they don't expel us."

"Relax. We'll fly over the path, down low. No one will see us, so no one will know."

"Except for the people who see your broom coming. Speaking of which…." I said.

Oliver's broom had come flying between two trees, into his hand.

"You can walk, if you want," Wood said.

I stopped walking, tapped my foot a few times, sighed, shook my head, sighed again, and said, "You're sure that can carry two people safely?"

"I didn't say safely," Wood said, smiling.

"Are you kidding?" I asked quite seriously.

"Yes. I assure you that I am perfectly capable of steering this thing. Now, do you want to cheat a little and get out of a detention or not?"

"Yes," I said.

He climbed onto the broom and, his feet brushing the ground, flew over a few feet to where I was standing.

I swung my leg over the broom and sat down behind him.

"You're either going to have to hang onto the broom or to me," Wood said, after a minute.

I held onto the few inches separating the two of us. Wood kicked off and started flying. He sped up slowly at first and then more quickly.

"OK?" he asked after a few minutes.

"This is a little awkward, but I'm fine," I answered.

He laughed. "Don't like flying?"

"No, but that's not what I was referring to," I said.

"I realized that, Laura."

"Nothing personal."

Wood nodded. He put on a sudden burst of speed. I felt like I was falling off, so I leaned forward to try to counter it. Automatically, I let go of the broom with one hand and wrapped my arm around him.

He stopped accelerating quickly. We were flying fairly fast but were only three feet off the ground. I took my arm away and held onto the broom a little tighter with both hands.

"You did that on purpose," I said bitterly.

"Just wanted to show you what awkward was."

"I told you not to take it personally."

"But you meant it personally," he said.

"You don't feel weird? We barely get along. There's a difference between being friends and not hating each other."

"You could try not being so obvious about that, though," Wood said.

I didn't answer and Wood started slowing down the broom. We were about a minute's run from the gates, and neither one of us had any doubts that the dementors would consider a broom zipping past them to be suspicious.

We both hopped off of the broom and started running to the gates. If we were inside of those before curfew, we'd be fine. If we weren't, we'd have McGonagall to deal with. Once we got within a few feet, we saw Professor Flitwick standing there with a clipboard in his hands.

I felt a chill go up my back. How was he standing so close to those dementors, waiting for all of us?

I got my answer when he talked. He breath smelled heavily of chocolate. "Right on time," he said, looking up at us carefully.

"We though we were going to be late," Wood said, nicely.

I didn't say anything. I was starting to feel funny and realized I hadn't brought a piece of chocolate with me.

"Why were you going to be late?" Flitwick asked.

"We got caught up in a store at the last minute," I could hear Wood saying, although I was barely comprehending it.

"Laura?" Professor Flitwick asked.

"No chocolate," I whispered.

"Oh! Here, here, take this," he said, digging in his robe and pulling out a Chocolate Frog, which he unwrapped for me.

I took it and ate it quickly. I let a few chills run down my back before thanking him.

"You're welcome. That's why I'm here, of course," he said. "You'd better go back to the castle quickly."

Wood and I hurried past the dementors. Once we stopped feeling their effects, he looked over at me.

"Dementors affect you?"

I shrugged slightly. "Not terribly. I usually just walk quickly past them and eat a bit of chocolate."

"Do you see things?"

"No."

"Hear things?"

"No."

"Remember things."

It hadn't been a question, so I felt no obligation to confirm what he had said.

"I remember you and Percy," he said, quietly.

I looked over at him, frowning. "I thought dementors made people relive bad memories."

Wood smiled a little. "That's right."

I started to reach out to him but quickly changed my mind. "I'm sorry, Oliver."

He just shrugged again. We kept walking without saying anything for about ten minutes.

"What's your favorite color?" Wood asked, suddenly.

"Why?"

"The silence is making me nervous," he said, about half kidding.

I rolled my eyes but answered anyway. "Blue."

"Mine's scarlet."

"Imagine that."

"No. It was even before Quidditch. I like it."

"It's a nice color," I said.

"Nice?"

"Pretty?"

"Better. Your favorite number?"

"I don't know. Three, I guess," I said.

"Why?"

"Third time's a charm. Three strikes, you're out. Three."

"What?"

"Must be Muggle sayings."

"Oh, mine's seven."

"Magical number seven?" I asked.

"Yes. And seven players on a Quidditch team."

I shook my head but smiled. "You're very predictable."

"And you aren't?"

"No."

"Right. OK, then, what's my favorite… food?"

"Anything peppermint," I said, smirking.

"How did you know that?"

"It's always been your favorite food."

"I'll bet your favorite food is… peanut butter."

"No. Pizza," I said.

"Pizza? It used to be peanut butter."

"My favorite food was never peanut butter. It was always pizza."

"Right. OK. So what's my favorite… season?"

"Quidditch season," I said, laughing.

"Damn it. Trick question, too."

"What's mine?" I asked.

"Spring."

"Good guess."

"So you've known one more thing about me than I have about you. What's my favorite song?"

"What is this? A competition?" I asked.

"Yes," Wood said right away.

"Well, that's easy. You said it was the song for that Chinese Quidditch team."

"I don't know yours."

"I don't have one. There are too many songs that I like to choose only one."

"So you're still one up on me."

"Two."

"One. Your answer for the song wasn't really an answer."

"Neither was Quidditch season. I'm two up. What's my favorite place?"

"Place?" Wood asked.

"Location."

"How in the hell am I supposed to know?"

"Guess, then."

He thought for a few minutes. "Here. Hogwarts."

"Right."

"Yours is… hold on, let me think." After a few minutes, I tried the obvious. "The Quidditch stadium."

"No. It's at home."

"Where do you live, again?"

"Guess," Wood mocked.

"I can't remember."

"You live in the suburbs of London, to the Northeast," he said, gloating. "Now we're tied."

The contest kept going. When we reached the school, we were still tied, although we'd missed more questions than we'd gotten right. Most of the rest of the correct answers were guesses.

"OK. Last question," Wood said, opening the oak door and letting me walk in first.

"I get to choose what it is," I said.

"No. I do. What's my worst fear?"

I thought for a few seconds. "That you're gay?"

"What?" he asked, closing the door rather strongly.

I laughed. "I'm kidding."

"Good."

"You aren't, are you?"

"No."

"Because you've never had a girlfriend here."

"Quidditch."

"Is your girlfriend?" I asked, laughing and starting up the marble staircase in front of him.

"And you've never had a boyfriend here," he said.

"I said I was only kidding."

"Good."

I thought for a few more seconds. "Is it dying?"

"Is what dying?"

"Is dying your worst fear?"

"Oh. No, it isn't."

"What is it, then?"

"Failing," he said, seriously.

"Failing out of Hogwarts? I thought you were a decent student."

"No. Failing in general."

"Everyone fails at something. No one's perfect."

"I know that. I'm more afraid of… being a failure."

"You won't be. You're going to win that Quidditch Cup this year, remember?"

"There's more to life than the Cup."

I looked at him, surprised.

He rolled his eyes. "Place Oliver Wood is obsessed with Quidditch joke here," he said sarcastically.

I laughed. "I couldn't come up with one quickly enough." We started walking up another staircase. "Anyway, if you set reasonable goals for yourself, you won't fail. Neither will I."

"You sound so sure."

"And I am, most of the time."

"And the rest of the time?"

"The rest of the time… I'm happy enough with the present not to worry about the future."

He nodded and didn't say anything for a while. "Is your greatest fear death?" he asked, finally.

It took me several seconds to realize that we were still playing that game. "No, it isn't."

"Then what is it?" he asked after realizing I wasn't going to say unless he specifically asked.

"Being alone forever," I answered quickly, looking down.

"You're never alone. There's always someone there to be a friend. Or there's family."

"That's not what I meant," I said, quietly.

"Oh. Oh… right," he said.

I looked over at him quickly to see that he was looking away.

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable or anything," I said, realizing that I was the one blushing.

"You didn't. I just… worry about that, too, sometimes."

"Only sometimes?"

"Yes. I think there's a person out there for everyone."

"Yeah… that's what I'm afraid of," I answered, partially to myself.

"Why? I like the idea."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Why not?" he asked.

"One person for everyone? Only one? What are the odds of finding them?"

"Well, the perfect person would be within reach."

"And if it didn't work out right?"

"Then it wasn't the right person," he said.

"You really like the idea of only one person for everyone."

"What? Did you think that all guys support polygamy or—"

"No. That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

"I just mean… what if you were to find your soulmate when you were… seventy?" I asked.

"Then we'd have a good number or years left together."

"What if you were one hundred?"

"At least I found her. The amount of time isn't that important."

"Even if you only knew her for a few years, months, days even?"

"Yes."

"Even though you'd have the rest of your life to live alone?" I asked.

"I thought I've already spent one hundred years without her."

"Oh, I forgot," I said, smiling despite myself.

"I still don't understand why you're afraid."

I sighed. "I guess I'm just skeptical of things like this that… rely so much on chance and can be ruined so easily."

"I understand. Maybe."

We reached the common room and walked in together. The Seventh Years looked over at us, a little confused.

"We thought you were going to be late," Adam said once we'd walked over.

"We came close," Oliver said, laying his broom up against a chair, which he sat down in.

"Find a gift?" Joan asked, looking up at me.

I nodded. "Yes. I think she'll love it."

I stood there, looking back at them looking up at me.

"May I sit down?" I asked, finally.

They all nodded saying yeses, sures and whatevers. I stayed with them for a few hours, talking about whatever the conversation led to. And I had fun.

When Percy came in, I smiled at him but didn't walk over to greet him. He looked at me strangely but not for long. He went straight up to his dormitory.

"What's eating him?" Mark asked.

"He'll get over it," I said.

"Maybe," Wood added, only slightly under his breath.

I nodded once or twice and stood up slowly. "I'm getting tired. Too much shopping. I'll see you all in the morning," I said, heading towards the door leading upstairs.

_Author's note_: I made a sweatshirt that says "My friend went to Hogwarts and all I got was this stupid jumper" after reading this story again. (A lot of this is already written. I'm almost half way through what's finished.) It's a sweet jumper. Sweater, I mean.

Coming up in Chapter 5: Christmas Vacation and an introduction to New Year's traditions in the wizarding world! (Think food, fireworks, dancing, andawesome "Muggle" games.) I like the next chapter. I can't help it.


	5. A New Year

_Author's Note_: How embarrassing…. I found a discrepancy in my own story. In chapter 1, I said that Mark was Tara's boyfriend and Adam was Joan's boyfriend. That wasn't right. Adam and Tara have been dating for years. Mark and Joan date on and off. I just wanted to make that clear before this chapter starts because this is the first time where it actually matters. I'm sorry for the mistake, but I am going back to change it.

**Chapter 5: A New Year**

Several days passed. I spent most of my time before Christmas vacation studying for all of the exams the teachers were giving. In the evenings, I would sit with the Seventh Years. Wood and I were getting along fine. Of course… he was practicing Quidditch as much as I was studying. There weren't many opportunities to fight. The rest of the Seventh Years still couldn't act like this wasn't weird.

One night, Adam quit trying to act. "Were you two abducted and switched bodies with some aliens?" Adam liked Muggle science fiction studies. Too much.

"What are you talking about, Adam?" Tara asked.

"Laura and Wood. I'm confused."

Wood laughed.

"Maybe it's a spell," Cedar said.

"Or even weirder than that," Rose said.

"You mean, like they just… decided to get along?" Cedar asked.

"Yeah. Something like that," Rose said.

"Or aliens!"

"It wasn't aliens, Adam," Rose said.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"We could just ask them, as they're sitting right here, listening," Tara said.

"Right," Cedar said, looking at me. "Well? Who's right?"

"You," I said.

"It's a spell?" she asked, looking surprised.

"No. We just decided to get along. Or try to get along," I said.

"Oh. Well… that's less fun."

"Sorry," Wood said. He stood up. "I've got Quidditch practice. Have a nice evening."

"Take it easy on them," Cedar said.

"I would never do that," he answered, seriously but smiling.

He picked his cloak up off of the floor and walked out of the common room.

I easily passed the tests I studied so much for, and before I knew it, I was on the train, heading back to London. Mum and Dad were meeting me there, and I would spend a little time as a Muggle. I was looking forward to seeing some of my Muggle friends again.

"Laura?"

I looked up. I had been the only person in my compartment and had been liking it that way. "Hey, Wood."

"Uh, I know we haven't been getting along very long or anything, but my parents always have this big New Year's party. A whole bunch of people will be there… all of the Seventh Years. And—"

"Except Percy," I interrupted.

"What? Oh, yes… not Percy."

"Keep going."

"If you want to come, you're welcome to."

I looked out of the window.

After a minute, Wood asked if I'd heard him or not.

"I heard you. I don't know where you live."

"Oh. Just say 'Frank and Linda Wood residence' when you use Floo Powder," he said.

"Our fireplace isn't connected to that," I said simply.

"Why—oh, Laura, I'm sorry. I forgot your parents are Muggles."

I shrugged a little and looked back out the window.

"But you live Northeast of London, right?"

"Yes."

"My aunt does, too. If you could get to her house—"

"Go to a person's house that I've never met?"

"Do you want to go?" he asked, not rudely.

"Yes."

"Then we'll figure out a—"

"But I don't know anything about wizards and witches, really. Is it a formal party?"

"No, not really."

"I don't even know what a not really formal party is for wizards."

"Wear your cloak over some Muggle clothes. Come with a dish or dessert. Just have fun," he said, smiling.

"And I'll only know a few people there."

"That's not true. You'll know several people from Hogwarts."

"And—" I started.

"You have to be around wizards to understand them. You'll have to join our world after Hogwarts or abandon magic."

I thought about this and nodded. "You're right."

"Of course I am."

"Where does your aunt live?"

We went on to plan how I could get to Wood's house. I felt guilty, like I was betraying Percy. But I did have a right to make my own friends.

Wood ended up staying in my car for about half an hour, talking about what to expect at the party. He said there would be a lot of people, but mainly adults, so I wouldn't have to worry about being around everyone. There would also be food and fireworks, music and dancing (but not much, and it wasn't obligatory, he assured me), and staying up into the twilight hours. I never would have admitted it to him at the time, but it sounded fun.

"How will I get home?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Maybe you can stay with Joan or something."

I nodded. "Maybe. I don't really know Joan very well either."

He laughed. "You've lived with Joan for seven years. What you mean is that you've pretended that you didn't know her until recently."

"Pretty much, yes," I admitted.

"I'm sure she'd gladly let you stay with her for a few hours. So you'll definitely come, then?"

"I'll run it by my parents first, but I will if I can."

"You need a date."

"What?"

"Just kidding," he said, grinning.

"Oh. You scared me for a minute."

"Scared myself for a minute. Come with me. We'll talk to Joan."

And Joan enthusiastically agreed to let me stay with her until I had enough sleep to be able to drive home from Wood's aunt's house, which was only about half an hour away from my house. If I was still angry at her at all (and it was hard to be angry at Joan for anything) for butting into my life earlier in the school year, I was completely over it then. I spent the rest of the trip to London in the girls' compartment.

My parents were waiting outside of Platform 9 ¾ . I hugged them and we walked out of King's Cross together, talking about what had happened at school since I'd last written to them. They loved hearing about all of the crazy things that seemed to happen there.

In the car, I brought up Wood's parents' party, and my parents were glad that I was making more friends and said that they didn't care if I went or not. I got a little nervous, then, because the one excuse I had left was gone.

Christmas was wonderful. I got nice presents, and my parents liked my gifts for them, which I'd gotten at a Muggle store during the summer. I even got to spend a little time with some of my Muggle friends from primary school, who thought I was going to a boarding school in America.

I did homework off and on and finished a few days before New Year's. I watched a lot of television. I didn't really miss it while at Hogwarts, but I still enjoyed watching a few shows while at home.

New Year's Eve came faster than I would have liked. I was nervous about being around a bunch of people I didn't know well at all, and then spending the night in an environment I was clueless about with a girl I was just becoming friends with.

I put on some nicer casual Muggle clothes, folded up my cloak, and put it under the seat in my car. I kissed Mum and Dad goodbye and started on the half an hour drive to Wood's aunt's house. He'd written to her, and I had called her to make sure it was all OK. She seemed like a nice woman on the phone, and Wood assured me in a short letter that she was harmless.

I pulled into her driveway, off to the side of the garage, so people could still pull out and into it. I grabbed my cloak and plate of a couple dozen homemade cookies and walked up to the front door.

A middle-aged woman opened the door before I got a chance to knock or ring the doorbell. She ushered me in quickly and shut the door.

"Sorry. I didn't want the neighbors to get a glimpse of the house." She laughed merrily.

I looked around me. There was nothing particularly unusual about the small hallway I was in. I could see a small living room at the end of it. The only magical thing I noticed was a painting waving at me.

I heard a clicking noise and was shocked to see a bedside table walk out of a door leading into the hallway. It hobbled into the living room and out of sight. I watched it in shock. After attending Hogwarts for seven years, I was used to weird things happening, but this was leaving my comfort range.

Oliver's aunt laughed again. "Pets. Living furniture makes things more interesting."

I nodded slowly, looking back at her. I remembered my manners and extended my hand, a little slowly. "I'm Laura Debman. Thank you for letting me use your fireplace."

"It's my pleasure, Laura. I'm Harriet Lanolin, Oliver's favorite aunt. He's a good kid. Pride of the family. We were all so disappointed when we heard Gryffindor had lost that match against Hufflepuff, but he's still got hope that Gryffindor can still win. I suppose it's possible."

"It's possible. He's very… motivated," I said, trying to be polite.

"Of course. His father, my brother, was Quidditch captain for Gryffindor when he was in school. And our father before that was as well. We were afraid he wasn't going to make the team, but he surprised us all by making it his second year. Of course, we were hoping for a better position than Keeper."

I was frowning now. I couldn't help it. I was shocked at how quickly Quidditch had come up and how Wood's "favorite aunt" was talking about him.

"It's a good position. Important," I said.

"Yes. It's better than Beater, I guess. Anyway, we should leave for Frank's house now. Just let me grab my cloak out of the bedroom. The fireplace is in the living room, at the end of this hall," she said, pointing. "You can wait for me in there, dear."

I forced a smile and nodded. "OK." The last thing I wanted to do at the moment was wait in a room with living furniture, whether the furniture was just charmed or… alive.

I walked down there as slowly as I could without looking reluctant. The fireplace was at the other side of the room from the door. Once at the doorway, I watched a chair move halfway across the room to sit right in front of the hearth.

"Figures," I muttered.

"Excuse me?"

I spun around to see a man standing behind me. He was frowning and had his arms crossed.

"Who are you?" I asked, startled.

"Who are YOU?" he countered. "This is my house."

I let a small sigh of relief escape before extending my hand. "I'm sorry. You startled me. My name is Laura Debman. I'm going to Mr. Wood's party with Mrs. Lanolin."

"Oh. OK. I'm Mr. Lanolin," he said, reluctantly taking my hand.

"You're Wo—Oliver's uncle?" I said.

"By marriage," he responded, looking over my head. "Don't get that close to the fireplace! You'll catch the whole house on fire!" he shouted.

He pushed past me, stalked across the room and kicked the chain in one of its short, wooden legs. The chair practically flew to the center of the room.

I was watching, my mouth open slightly.

"Ready to go?" Mrs. Lanolin asked, walking past me, farther into the room.

I didn't answer, thinking she was talking to her husband, as she was walking in his direction and looking at him. After about thirty second of standing at the hearth, holding a pot of Floo Powder, she raised her eyebrows.

"Laura?" she asked.

"Oh. Yes, I'm ready," I said, hurrying across the room, avoiding furniture the best that I could. It wasn't easy, as the furniture seemed to be crowding into this room. There were about five chairs, three tables and a china cabinet.

"Good. I'll be back late. Don't wait up," Mrs. Lanolin said, definitely to her husband this time.

He snorted softly and left the room quickly.

I must have looked confused because Mrs. Lanolin explained quickly.

"He's a Muggle. Doesn't like my family much. Says they're too unpredictable. They think he's boring. Can't say I don't completely disagree with them sometimes. He's a good man, though. You go first," she said, pushing the Floo Powder at me.

I'd used Floo Powder only once, but I'd read plenty of stories where it was used. I took a pinch and stepped into the fireplace, a little nervously. Floo Powder was definitely not a science.

"Frank and Linda Wood residence," I said, clearly.

Fireplaces started flying by. I closed my eyes to stop from getting too dizzy. The swirling motion stopped quickly. I opened my eyes to see a small room with a couch along one wall and a chair in the corner. A woman around Mrs. Lanolin's age was sitting in the chair. She stood quickly.

"You'd better get out of the way before someone else comes," she said kindly.

"Oh, right," I said, quickly leaving the fireplace.

About two seconds later, there was a small pop and Mrs. Lanolin appeared. She stumbled out of the fireplace, recovered quickly, and laughed.

"Hello, Harriet," the woman in the room said.

"Hello, Linda," Mrs. Lanolin said. The two women hugged, awkwardly. Afterwards, they both stepped back, still smiling.

"How are you?" Wood's mother asked.

"Fine. And yourself?"

"Fine." Mrs. Wood turned to me. "I don't recognize you," she said politely.

"This is Laura Debman. Laura, this is Oliver's mother, Linda," Mrs. Lanolin said.

I smiled and shook Mrs. Wood's hand. She was looking at me rather oddly.

"Oh, yes. Oliver told us you were coming. He's told us about you," Mrs. Wood said, still kindly.

I tried to smile and succeeded a little bit. "Oh. Um… well, don't hear everything you believe."

"What?" Mrs. Wood and Mrs. Lanolin asked in unison.

"What?" I asked.

The two women laughed.

"She's a little nervous. I think my furniture may be partially to blame."

"Oh. I don't know why you keep that stuff. It's quite a fright when the chair you're sitting on decides to talk a walk to another room altogether," Mrs. Wood said, laughing.

"I like it."

"I've no idea why. You two are a little dirty. Isn't your cloak supposed to keep the ashes off of you, Laura?" Mrs. Wood asked, smiling.

I looked down at the cloak and cookies in my hand. "I forgot to put it on before I left." I bent down, placed the items on the floor and dusted myself off quickly.

"The doorway would have done that for you, dear," Mrs. Wood said.

I looked at the open door and then back at the two women. "How?"

The two women laughed, exchanging a look I didn't understand.

"Magic," Mrs. Lanolin said, smirking only a little.

"Oh. Right. Well… um…." I picked my cloak off of the ground, put it on hastily and then retrieved my tray of cookies, as well.

"Oliver is answering the front door with his father. He'll tell you where you can put the cookies and where the other children are," Mrs. Wood said. She motioned towards the only door in the room.

"Thank you, Mrs. Wood," I said. I walked out of the small room and into the entrance hall.

Oliver and his dad were leaning against the wall, laughing about something. They looked a lot alike. They both looked over at me and nodded.

"You came after all," Wood said.

"I said I would."

"Yes, but I still wasn't sure you'd come."

"Who's your friend?" Mr. Wood asked.

"This is Laura Debman. And this is my dad, Frank."

"Nice to meet you," I said, walking over to shake his hand.

"You as well. I've heard a lot about you."

"Recently?" I asked.

Mr. Wood laughed heartily. "Yes."

"Good," I said, a little relieved.

"You brought cookies," Wood said, looking at what I was holding.

"Is that OK? They're the only thing I can make decently. They're not fancy or anything, but—"

"They're more than fine. Chocolate chip?" Mr. Wood asked.

"Yes."

"My favorite. Why don't you show her to the kitchen, Oliver?"

"OK. Come with me," he said, starting to walk towards the inside of the house.

"Nice house," I said after I'd seen enough of it to say that. And it was a nice house. It was large, but not so large that the Woods couldn't furnish it well. Of course, wizarding families usually inherited their houses, so they had more time to pay for the things to go inside of an impressive house.

"Thanks. It's not a castle, but who really needs one, right?"

"Right," I agreed.

"Right."

"So… your father was a Quidditch captain, too," I said after several seconds of silence.

"Did Aunt Harriet already bring that up?"

"Yeah. Your family takes Quidditch quite seriously."

"Of course we do," Oliver said defensively.

"Explains a lot," I said simply.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Just that you're starting to make more sense."

He looked over at me, shook his head slightly and pushed a door open.

"The kitchen," he said, waiting for me to walk in. He followed closely behind.

"Nice."

"Thank you. You can put the cookies on the table with the rest of the desserts," Oliver said, taking them from me and doing it himself.

I walked over and looked at all of the things on the table. There were fancy cakes, pies and puddings. My cookies looked out of place, and I said so.

"Don't worry about that. Magic made these other desserts. I have to get back to the door. All of the people our age are outside in the backyard. Right outside of that door by the stove. I'll see you later," he said, leaving quickly.

I walked out of the kitchen into a well-lit backyard. About twenty teenagers were hanging around near a couple of tables with drinks and appetizers on them. Younger kids were running around farther away from the house. I joined the Gryffindor Seventh Years girls.

"You came," Joan said.

"I said I would come."

"We didn't think you would," Cedar said.

"Where's Rose?" I asked.

"Oh, she's got to be fashionably late," Cedar said, shaking her head. "You know Rose. Just like her mother, and since her parents were invited, they'll have to be twice as late to keep up appearances."

The four of us laughed. We joined Adam and Mark, who were talking to some Ravenclaws. Some Hufflepuffs joined us and soon all of us were in one big group, having about ten different conversations.

Oliver joined us all after about an hour, Rose right behind him with Flint. All of the Gryffindor Seventh Years exchanged looks. We laughed when Flint walked away from her to go to a different part of the group.

"We thought you'd come with him for a moment," Adam said, smiling.

"I wish," Rose said, smirking back.

Adam wrapped his arm around Tara's waist. The two of them never really flirted at Hogwarts. Not around the rest of us, at any rate. They'd been boyfriend and girlfriend before the rest of us had even thought about dating.

"Oh, stop rubbing it in," Rose said, turning away from them.

Wood had been standing behind her.

"Hey, you're a Quidditch captain," she said, slyly.

"Watch out, Wood. She may decide to stalk you next," Mark said, laughing.

"Maybe Flint would get jealous if—"

"Rose!" Joan said.

Rose laughed. "I was only kidding."

"Sure, you were," Cedar said.

"I'm going to say hello to everyone once more," Wood said, smiling. He started making his way through the crowd.

"He's not bad looking," Joan said, blushing a little.

"Hey," Mark said. The two of them had been dating off an on for a few months.

"She was only stating a fact," Cedar said. "She didn't mean anything by it."

"I know."

"Then why are you hey-ing?" Cedar asked.

"I was only kidding," Mark answered.

"Oh. Well, why didn't you just say so?"

The rest of us laughed.

"He's not that cute," Adam said.

"Yes, he is," I said without thinking.

They all looked at me, surprised.

"Just forget I said it," I said, blushing.

"Said what?" Dave Grather, Cedar's boyfriend, asked, walking up behind her.

"Nothing," I said.

"She just said that Wood is cute, which is true, so it's not a big deal," Joan said.

"Laura said that?" Dave asked.

"I'm going to get a butterbeer. When everyone stops making something out of nothing, I'll be back," I said, leaving to let them get the whole thing out of their systems.

I pushed my way through the crowd around the closest table. There were probably about forty people there now, ranging in ages from thirteen to almost twenty. Most of them were children of Oliver's parents' friends.

"Laura?"

I looked up. Fred and George were looking at me. I smiled kindly.

"Hi. How are you?"

"What are you doing here?" one of them asked.

"Is Percy here?" the other asked.

The first looked at the other and slapped him in the back of the head playfully.

"You're right," the second said.

"Of course I'm right. Percy wouldn't be caught dead within a mile of this place."

"Neither would she."

The two of them looked at me again.

"I can't make friends?" I snapped. "Oh, forget it." I walked back to the Gryffindors slowly. After a few minutes, I could join in the conversation again without feeling guilty. Oliver joined us again after several minutes.

Music started playing somewhere inside of the Woods' house. From the outside, the house looked a lot smaller than it clearly was inside. That didn't surprise me that much. Many houses were enchanted to look smaller than they were. It made the houses, and therefore the wizards living there, less conspicuous to Muggles.

"Well, the adults must be getting drunk enough to make fools out of themselves," Cedar said, still laughing a little from the conversation we had just finished.

"It's classical music," I said.

"They should still be sober enough to realize that," Wood said, laughing and checking a Muggle watch.

"What happens when they're not?" I asked.

"Nothing that makes sense," Rose said.

"How do you know?"

"We'll go in there soon, for dinner," Wood said.

"Oh."

"Something wrong?" Dave asked.

"No, I just said 'Oh,'" I said.

"But it sounded like there was something wrong," Dave said.

"Nothing."

"You don't have to dance," Wood said.

"Good."

Joan laughed. "That's what was wrong?"

I shrugged. "I don't like dancing."

"No one in there will remember—" Dave said.

"Well, that's not entirely true," Cedar interrupted. "The people under eighteen will remember."

"Twenty-one. My parents won't serve alcohol to anyone under twenty-one."

"We know," Adam muttered

"When Wood turns twenty-one, the age limit will go up again," Dave said, grinning at him.

"Probably," Wood admitted.

"Let's go inside and get some food," Rose said. "I'm starving."

There was a lot of good food there. I couldn't make up my mind about what I wanted, so I tried to randomly choose things that didn't contain the same foods, which was taking the random part out of it. When we reached the desserts, I was shocked to see about eight people huddled around my cookies.

"These taste… homemade," a woman around fifty said with her mouth full.

"They're different," another middle-aged woman said, not in a bad way.

"Someone cooked these."

"They're only chocolate chip cookies," I muttered to myself.

"Who made these?" an elderly lady asked.

"Laura did," Oliver said, from behind me.

I turned to see him pointing and turned back, blushing, to the people around the cookies.

"You did?" the elderly lady asked me, kindly.

"Yeah."

"Where'd you learn to make them?"

"There's a recipe on the back of the chocolate chips bag, but I—"

"A recipe! See, they're homemade!" one of the other ladies interrupted, speaking to the other women.

"Told you not to worry," Wood said, laughing a little under his breath.

I turned around but he was walking towards the table the rest of the Gryffindors were sitting at.

"You're a Muggle," a middle-aged man said.

"What?" I asked, facing him.

"No, she isn't, Hank. Her parents must be," the elderly woman said.

I didn't know how to respond. I wasn't sure whether homemade cookies were a good thing or not.

"Your cooking is good, Laura," one of the younger women said. "Go off with your friends."

I forgot about getting a dessert for myself. I just walked back to the table, confused. I sat down in between Joan and Tara.

"I know there's something wrong, now," Dave said from his glass.

"She made cookies," Wood said, simply.

The others all nodded, understandingly. I cursed being the only Muggle-born in the group.

"Any sort of manual effort is… different," Joan said.

"Different bad?"

"No. Different good," Dave said, holding up part of one of my cookies.

"Oh. Well, then… whatever."

They all laughed but didn't talk about baking cookies anymore. After about an hour, we'd all had more than enough to eat and had digested enough to start getting bored.

"Let's dance," Cedar said, standing and holding her hand out to Dave.

Dave was a big guy, but he wasn't dominant by any means. Still, he just looked up at her.

"Someone spiked the punch," Rose said.

Cedar laughed. "We can't dance sober?"

"We dance every year," Joan said, shrugging.

"Outside," Dave added.

"Well… we're practically adults now," Cedar said.

There was a short silence while the rest of them thought about this. I was confused again.

"I'm confused again," I said.

"We've just never really thought about staying in here," Joan explained, like she was explaining why two plus two equals four.

"Dance with me," Tara said, also standing, and looking at Adam.

Adam shrugged and stood up. "OK." The two of them walked out to the center of the dance floor, which was positioned in between most of the tables in the upper center of the room. There were only a few couples on the dance floor, and they smiled at the young couple that had joined them.

"Huh," Wood said.

"'Huh', what?" I asked. I still wasn't quite following what the big deal was.

"We really are almost adults," Joan said, a little sadly.

"Because you're dancing inside?" I asked.

"Because we want to dance inside, in front of everyone. Because the older people seem to be expecting it," she said, looking at me.

I'd heard that age hits people hard every once in a while. I always thought they were talking about midlife crises. Not growing up.

"Huh," I said, looking back at Tara and Adam. "I thought you were all just crazy."

"Maybe a little," Joan said.

"Are you going to embarrass me, making me stand here with my hand out, asking you to dance all night?" Cedar asked.

Dave sighed deeply before standing up and walking very reluctantly to the dance floor. Other Seventh Years from other houses had taken Tara and Adam's lead and were also heading out to the floor. Joan and Mark joined them all, leaving Wood, Rose and me.

"I'm missing my chance," Rose said, standing. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck," I said. "Why?"

"Let him try to turn me down," she said, flashing a sly smile.

Wood and I watched and clapped when Rose finally succeeded in dragging Marcus Flint out onto the dance floor. The few other Slytherins there just laughed.

"Wonder what she threatened him with," Wood said.

I shrugged. "Probably nothing he hasn't been threatened with before."

"Probably not."

"Nope."

We watched our friends for a few minutes.

"Maybe we should have brought dates, huh?" Wood asked.

"The people I'd have asked wouldn't have been able to come, anyway," I said.

"Percy?"

"No. Friends back home. Muggles."

"Oh. Yeah, the magic may have been a little hard to explain," Wood said.

"Just a little."

"Probably," he said.

"Yeah."

One song ended and another song started up. The music seemed to be coming from no where.

"Where is the music coming from?" I asked.

"A radio with the volume up pretty high," Wood said.

"Oh. Good idea."

"It works. We just turn the radio down when commercials come on."

"Another good idea."

"You don't know how to dance, do you?"

"What?" I asked, looking at him.

"That's why you don't want to dance. You don't know how."

"I know how," I said, indignantly.

"Then let's dance."

"With you?" I asked.

He laughed. "Two friends can't dance?"

"I don't like dancing in front of people."

"You don't know how."

"I do."

"Prove it," he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

"Why?"

"You wouldn't like to prove me wrong?"

I didn't respond.

"You can't prove me wrong."

"I just don't want to," I said, fully realizing that he knew I never didn't want to prove him wrong.

"I'll bet you that you can't dance," Wood said.

"Why would I make a stupid—"

"I'll bet you a Knut that you can't dance."

I didn't answer again.

"I knew I was right."

"Well, it's not like I couldn't figure it out," I said, looking at the dance floor. I recognized the steps. It was just the one where the couple did the box-type steps.

Wood stood up and motioned.

"I don't want to figure it out here!" I whispered harshly.

"Why not? Everyone has to learn eventually."

"Not in front of everyone."

"All of us learned in front of everyone. There were just less everyones out in the backyard," Wood said. He smiled. "I'll teach you how to dance. You'll catch on immediately."

I looked up at him with a pained expression. "I'm going to regret this."

"You won't. I promise," Wood said, stepping back a little and motioning to the group of dancers again.

I walked to the edge of the group with him, making sure we were closest to empty tables. Most of the people in the room had gone to the center of the room to dance or had gone back outside.

"Right. Take my hand. Good. Now put your other hand—"

"On the back of your shoulder. I can see everyone else," I snapped.

"Do you want to learn?"

"I clearly remember saying no to that quite a few times," I muttered, barely touching his shoulder.

He laughed and put his hand on my back. "Now, step backwards a little with your left foot. No, that's your right."

"Right."

"No, left."

I laughed and stepped backwards a little. He followed with his opposite foot.

"Now back with the right foot."

I did. He continued to tell me exactly what to do. I followed his directions, but things still weren't going very well. Everything was choppy instead of flowing, and I was a little unsteady, which didn't help at all.

"Ouch," Wood said, after I stepped on his foot for the first time.

"Sorry," I said.

"Don't look down. It's throwing you off. Don't look anywhere below my shoulders," he said, letting go of my hand and lifting my chin up. "Don't look down," he repeated, taking my hand again.

"OK."

"I'm just going to say which foot to move and not where to move it, OK? You know we're drawing a square with our steps."

"OK."

"Left. Right. Right. Left. Don't look down at your feet!"

"I forgot," I said, looking up quickly.

He laughed. "You're doing fine."

"Liar."

"You are. You're doing the steps, and I'm not even telling you what to do," he said.

"I am? I am!" I said, looking down at my feet. I looked up again quickly. "Don't look down. OK."

"Now, keep dancing, but look over at the other people. Do you see how they're forming a box with their steps but are moving in more of a circle?"

"Yes."

"OK. Keep looking away from your feet but follow my lead. I'll make it so we do that."

"OK."

After a few rounds, I was letting him lead, and like he said, we were dancing like everyone else. I laughed happily. Joan clapped from a meters away.

"Told you I could figure it out," I said, smiling to show that I was kidding.

"That will be five Knuts for your lesson," Wood said, smiling back.

I laughed. "I'll get it to you as soon as I can."

I looked him in the eyes for the first time since we'd started dancing and when he returned my gaze, it scared me a little. I looked away slowly.

"So," Wood said after a few seconds. "How has your first wizard party been going?"

I laughed. "Let's see. First I met your aunt, who almost immediately started talking about Quidditch, which wasn't that bad. Then she sends me to the fireplace being guarded by furniture that moves. Your uncle by marriage walks up behind me, almost giving me heart failure, to suddenly turn on a chair that gets too close to the fire—"

"Sparky," Oliver interrupted.

"Sparky?"

"That's its name."

"Sparky. Well, Sparky got kicked. Your aunt comes back and we leave. Then I make a fool out of myself in front of your mum and Mrs. Lanolin. My cookies pointed out to everyone that I'm not like them, and then someone I hated for almost five years for no reason taught me how to dance."

"Are you having fun?" he asked.

I laughed. "I'm having a great time," I said seriously.

"I thought you would."

"I could have used a warning about the furniture, though."

"And what fun would that be?"

"For you or for me?" I asked.

He laughed. "Sorry. My aunt's furniture moves, so don't be too surprised when you see it, OK?"

"Your aunt's furniture moves?"

"She's allergic to animal dander."

"Oh. OK."

"And I have a Muggle uncle who hates the whole rest of my family. And my family is… obsessed with Quidditch. And you may have to dance with me, just to save your pride."

"I may have to stay home."

He smiled a little.

"I'm kidding."

"I know," he said, half-heartedly.

"Oliver, all of the things you just warned me about are OK."

"I know," he said with a little more confidence.

"You're a good teacher."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Laura?" a voice asked, from behind me.

I let go of Wood's hand so I could turn around. A flash went off, and Mr. Wood lowered a camera.

"That should turn out well," he said, nodding and walking away.

I laughed and turned back to Oliver, who was blushing a little.

"My parents are the same way. Are you thirsty?"

"No, but go on and get yourself something to drink," he said, taking his hand off of my waist.

"I was planning on it." I took my hand off of his shoulder.

I got some punch at the main table. Fred and George were standing there, looking a little suspicious.

"Spiking it?" I asked.

"No. Dying it blood red," one said, simply.

"Oh. And adding...?"

"Fake fingers," he confirmed.

I laughed. "I'll remember that."

"Well, you catch on quickly," the other said, nodding behind me at Wood and an older woman dancing.

"You're here, too," I said.

"Does Percy know—"

"Who cares?" I interrupted. "He doesn't."

"He broke up with Penelope," the first said, quickly.

I looked at him skeptically.

"Well… she broke up with him," he added.

"How is he?" I asked.

"Who cares?" asked one.

"You don't," said the other.

"That's not fair," I said. "You two don't even like Percy."

"No," one said, dumping a bag of fake fingers in the punch, "but we love him."

The two boys nodded and walked away. I wasn't used to getting guilt trips from them, not that they talked to me unless I was at the Burrow.

"He's handsome," a woman around twenty-five to thirty said, walking up next to me. She reached for the ladle to the punch and changed her mind quickly.

"It's just food dye," I said a little coldly.

"Sorry," the woman said defensively.

"No." I smiled at her. "I'm sorry. Just a bit of bad news. Which one is handsome?"

"Which one?"

"I mean, I can't tell them apart to save my life, but—"

"Oh! You thought I was referring to the Weasley twins. No, although they'll be handsome as well in a few years if they're anything like their older brothers."

"Probably," I agreed. "I'm Laura, by the way."

"I'm Janet."

"Nice to meet you."

"You as well. Are your parents here?"

"No," I said nonchalantly.

"Neither are mine. I'm in the same department as Frank Wood at the Ministry."

"Oh. What department?"

"Quidditch."

I laughed. "The same as five years ago."

"What was five years ago?"

I shook my head. "Long story."

"You go to school with their son?"

"Yeah. We're in the same house and year."

"I've never seen you here before," she said, deciding to drink the punch even if it did look like blood.

"Oh. Um… this was the first year I could make it."

"I see."

"I doubt it," I said, partially to myself. "Who were you saying was handsome?"

"Frank's son."

I had been looking over the crowd. I stopped and laughed.

"You don't agree?"

"I agree. I was just expecting you to say someone else."

"Who?" Janet asked, scanning the crowd like I had been.

"No one in particular. Anyone."

"I guess it's hard to see your friends that way," she said.

I thought for a second. "Something like that."

She looked at me, raising an eyebrow.

"Long story," I repeated.

"Sounds interesting. I'll have to ask Frank about it."

"What?"

"Oliver tells him everything. Within reason, of course."

"Oh." I winced a little without meaning to.

"It was nice meeting you," she said. She was looking towards a man around her age walking over.

"You, too."

"We enjoyed watching you learn how to dance," she said without looking away from the man. She walked away to meet him partway.

"'More everyones than the rest of us,'" I mumbled to myself, walking back to the table we'd eaten at. The rest of the Seventh Year Gryffindors were there. Dave was with some of his Ravenclaw friends.

"How many drinks did you get?" Wood asked jokingly.

"Oh. I was talking to one of your dad's coworkers."

"Why?" Cedar asked.

"She got my attention right away," I said.

"How?"

"Oh… just heard her talking to herself," I said before taking a sip of the pre-dyed punch.

"You caught on quickly to the dance. It took Adam hours," Tara said, smiling at him.

"She had a better teacher," Adam said, grinning back.

"He's had more practice," Tara countered.

"You've taught a lot of people to dance?" I asked.

"A few," Wood said, shrugging.

"He taught all of us girls to dance," Joan said. "The three of us only took about an hour in total to learn. Now, Mark and Adam were a different story."

"You taught Mark and Adam how to slow dance?" I asked, laughing.

"It would have gone a lot faster if he had," Joan said, also laughing.

"We had to learn how to lead. That's harder," Mark said.

"You learned. That's what's important," Tara said.

"How many other people have you taught?" I asked Wood.

"A few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. A few cousins."

"A year," Cedar said, smiling. "He's good at it."

I nodded. "Were you serious about he five Knuts—"

"No," Wood interrupted.

"OK. I thought you were kidding, but it seems like you're running a business, so… has anyone ever owed you a Knut for that bet?" I asked.

"A Knut?" Cedar asked. "He bet me a Sickle."

"I was positive that you didn't know how to dance," Wood said, smirking.

"And you weren't positive I couldn't? You only bet me a Knut," Adam said, laughing.

"You made that bet with Adam, too?" I asked.

"Don't take it personally," Wood said.

"I wasn't."

"I was only kidding," Adam said.

"Oh. I knew that. Um… who taught you how to dance?"

"Mum," Wood said simply. "When I was twelve."

"He taught us when we were thirteen. Wood and I would be stuck dancing together because Adam and Tara and Joan and Mark would choose each other," Cedar said, laughing.

I shrugged. "You could have danced with other people."

"We did. Oliver taught lots of girls how to dance. Probably most of the Seventh Years and a fair amount of the Sixth Years."

"Ah." I forced a little laugh, hoping that it sounded natural enough. "Well, I was a little late, but I got my lesson, hum?"

No one said anything. I was wondering if I had sounded offended when I realized why they weren't talking. No one was. Then I wondered how many people had heard what I said. Was everyone waiting to see how Wood reacted? I hadn't seemed that hurt. I wasn't that hurt.

"What?" I whispered as quietly as I could.

Wood put a finger to his lips, then pointed to his watch.

I pulled his arm across the table so I could see the time. There was a little less than a minute until midnight. I looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

Wood just put his finger to his mouth again.

I sat in silence, more confused than any time that night. About twenty seconds later, a bang went off. I jumped and almost screamed. Not that it would have mattered if I would have screamed. Everyone in the room had started cheering. Another bang went off and everyone looked up.

At the top of the room, miniature fireworks were going off. I watched the five minute show with awe for the designs the fireworks were making. They spelled things. They formed pictures. They stayed lit longer than any Muggle fireworks. They were magnificent.

"There's a minute of silence at the end of the year, to signify the year's passing and those that passed with it," Wood explained after the short show.

"Oh. Another thing that I could have been warned about," I said, much more coldly than I planned on.

"Are you OK?" Cedar asked.

I looked over at her. "Yes."

"You seem… upset," she said.

"No. I'm still just a little confused. Most things tonight have been different than I'm used to."

"We understand," Joan said.

"Time for my favorite time of the night!" Adam said.

"What?" I asked.

"Games," they all said, standing up.

I stood up with them. "Games? What sort of games?"

"Wizards and Warlocks!" Adam said, almost jumping up and down he was so happy.

"Adam's team always wins," Tara said, smiling at him.

"How's it work?" I asked.

"Wait and listen to the directions," Wood said. We were gathering in the middle of the room with most of the other people there who were under fifty years old.

Mr. Wood was in the middle of the room with two flags. One was black with fire coming out from around a dark figure. The other was blue with two wands crossing, forming an X, with sparks surrounding them.

"All right. For those of you who have never played Wizards and Warlocks, or for those of you who have forgotten, here are the rules:

"First: the two teams may only have two people guarding the flag. An unlimited number of others may guard the territory, but may not come within twenty feet of the flag itself.

"Second: at any time you may cross into the other team's side, but when you do, they may capture you, and you must walk back to the jail, which is this house, at the front door. A teammate must come to the door, which is considered neutral territory, to retrieve you. You may leave only after you've spent five minutes at the door. You are obligated to come immediately here once being tagged by a member of the opposing team. A person can free as many teammates from the jail as they wish simply by touching them.

"Third: once a team has gotten possession of the flag, they must get it onto their side before they have won.

"And last of all… any strategy may be used as long as you remain on the ground. Magic may be used if you have graduated from Hogwarts or another wizarding school. Magic may not be used on a person, only objects. These objects may be anything as long as they will not harm a person. Also, the flags themselves cannot be tampered with in any way and must be within plain sight.

"That's it. First team to get the other team's flag on their side of the field wins," Mr. Wood concluded.

"Are there any boundaries?" someone asked.

"Oh, yes. I almost forgot, thank you. The field is a square mile, the center of which is the front door. The house is out of bounds. You have to go around it. The boundaries are marked by a red light. You can't mistake them if you come across them. A team's flag may be anywhere on their team's side. One team, the Wizards, will have the south side… towards town. The division between the two sides is marked by a yellow line along the ground that won't interfere with running."

"This is Capture the Flag," I said, relieved.

"Except there's magic," Joan said, quietly. "Don't underestimate that fact."

"OK. Chosing teams," Mr. Wood said. "Each side will have an even amount of students and people who can use magic."

Mr. Wood chose two men to choose teams. The adults were chosen first, then the students. Adam was the first student chosen. I ended up on his team, with Joan and Wood. Tara, Mark, Cedar and Dave were on the Wizards' team.

"OK. Go outside. Hide your flag and strategize. The game will begin in fifteen minutes. Wherever your flag is at that time, it will stay until a member of the other team touches it. And, yes, the flag will know.

"Ready… set… GO!" Mr. Wood yelled.

All of us ran out of the house from different exits. I followed the people on my team to the north side of the house. We were all wearing black armbands that were charmed to make sure we didn't cheat. We all stopped about halfway into our area, according to other Warlocks. They decided to hang our flag out of a tree. It was visible, but not horribly so.

"OK, Adam. What's the plan?" I asked as all of us gathered together.

"Hey, I don't plan. I just always win," he said, shrugging.

"We've got to find the other team's flag, first. We should split up into small groups and look around, leaving about a third of us over here to watch our own flag and set traps," Wood said.

Everyone nodded. There were about forty of us.

"OK. How about half of the adults stay here, since you can use magic. You can set a few traps or decoys. You guys figure out who's going to watch the flag. The rest of us should sneak over. Once someone sees it, they should come back quickly and clear the jail out. Then we can strategize more," Wood continued.

"What if the other team finds our flag and doesn't delay an attempt at getting it?" I asked.

"They won't get very far," a young man said. "Strategy and teamwork is the only way to win this game. The games usually last at least an hour. You'll catch on quickly, especially if you stick with Wood, here."

"OK," I said. I was only asking. I didn't really know what I was talking about.

"OK. Let's split up," Adam said, clapping his hands once.

We all cheered, although not too loudly, since we didn't want to tip the other team off to our position.

"Remember, we can't cross the yellow line until the siren sounds," Wood said loudly, as we all started jogging in different directions.

Adam, Joan, Wood and I all went together. Wood decided we should head towards one of the boundaries first. While we didn't want to follow one of them, we also didn't want to go straight down the middle of the field.

"Any ideas where they'll hid it?" I asked.

"Nope. That's what makes this game fun," Adam said.

"What makes this game fun for you is that you always win," Joan said, laughing.

"That doesn't hurt."

We kept walking. The siren went off before we even could see the yellow line, so that wasn't an issue anymore. When we did get within sight of it, we could hear some people coming.

The four of us hid behind trees, quietly, and waited until the people were passing before jumping out and tagging all of them quickly. They all muttered their disappointment, but they were only about twelve or thirteen, and no one really expected anything different from them.

"Maybe we're in too big of a group," Wood said. "We'll be heard just as easily as they were."

"Not if we don't talk. I'd rather stick together," Joan said.

"I agree," I said.

"Scared of the dark?" Adam asked us.

"A little," I admitted.

The guys laughed. Joan pointed to herself and nodded, mouthing, "Me, too."

"We'll just have to rely on you men, then, won't we?" she said aloud, sarcastically.

"Damn straight," Adam said, hiking up his pants.

We kept walking and about fifteen minutes later, we were tagged by people on the other team. We walked back to the front door as quickly as we could, laughing and not worrying about making noise or not. We figured it would only help our teammates who were trying to go quietly.

We found the front door not liberated, which was good. We'd get to learn where the flag was with everyone else. About ten minutes later, the man who'd explained about the game lasting a long time came with whom I assumed was his wife. They tagged all of the people who'd been there five minutes, and we followed the pair into our territory a little farther.

"The flag is about halfway into their area, on the west side, almost right on the boundary. I'd say it's probably about twenty feet from it, in fact," the man said. "So, the best strategy would probably be to split into pairs and half of the pairs go around and come in from the back, and the others take their time and come in from our direction. Hopefully, we'll all come in at around the same time."

"Sounds good to me," Adam said. "I'll go with you, Wood."

"Let the girl go with him. Then she'll be able to participate in the next two games, if it comes down to that," the man's partner said.

"Next two games?" I asked.

"We play best two out of three. If one team wins in two games, we'll play another game instead of this one again," Wood said.

"And each of these games last at least an hour?" I asked.

"That's why you're coming home with me," Joan said, laughing.

Wood and I ended up in the half that was going to come in from the front. We had no problems not talking, so that ended up being a plus for us. Of course, that was about the only plus.

We were doing pretty well until Wood led us into a trap. One moment we're walking carefully and pretty quietly towards the other side's flag. The next thing I know, we're up in the air in a net.

I screamed a little late. It was a delayed reaction, I guess. Anyway, I screamed after the net was done ensnaring the two of us. It wasn't a small net but was still intended for only one person. I ended up sitting on Wood's legs, with my back up against part of the net.

"You were following way too close," Wood snapped.

"Obviously. You led me right into this."

"You think I did on purpose, or something?"

"No. Can they do this? This has got to be breaking some rule," I said, trying to find a more comfortable position.

"Stop moving," Oliver said. "We're lucky we ended up in a halfway reasonable position. I don't think you have to use your imagination to understand what I mean."

I blushed, which didn't really matter because it was so dark. I could barely see his silhouette.

"How far up are we?" I asked.

"You're in a better position to judge that," he said. He was angled so that he was looking more up than anything.

"I'll have to move, then," I said, leaning to see the ground better. "I'd say we're about five feet up."

"Five feet? Well, it wouldn't kill us to fall that distance."

"No, but it'd hurt," I answered. I sighed and leaned up against the netting the best that I could in my position. "So we just wait for someone to magic us out of this thing?"

"Yes. They'll come check the trap sometime. That's an unwritten rule to this game, luckily. Traps, however, are perfectly legal."

"You weren't looking for them?"

"It's hard to see them in the dark. A light would be a dead giveaway, though, so people get caught in these things every year."

"So much for learning from you," I muttered.

"I did teach you how to dance."

"You know what I meant."

He didn't answer right away. "Well, at least you learned what it's like to get trapped."

I laughed. What else could I do?

"You're sitting on my legs," he said.

"I'll try to slide down so I'm only leaning against them, then," I said, and, surprisingly, I succeeded.

"So…."

"I guess there's no point in being quiet now, huh?" I asked.

"It'd probably serve us better to talk."

I nodded, pointlessly. "Have a nice Christmas?"

"Yes. You?"

"Yes."

"Get your homework done?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Yeah, me too."

There was a pause.

"How's Percy?" he asked.

"Not funny, Wood."

"Why? I meant it." He sounded serious.

"Fred and George said that he broke up with Penelope. Can't say I'm heartbroken over that, but… I don't know."

"Well, you won't have to hang around me anymore, then," he said.

"What if I wanted to?" I asked, looking in his approximate direction.

"You want to?"

"Yes, all of you. I've had a good time around you all. Seems stupid to give it up just because I don't need it anymore. Unless you would object to that," I said, getting a little defensive.

"No. Do whatever you like."

"I will, then." I paused. "Thank you."

"For saying that you could hang around us? You never needed my permission for that, even when you wouldn't have gotten it. There's nothing I could have done about you being there."

"I meant thank you for making me feel welcome with you in the first place."

"Oh." There were a few seconds before he said, "You're welcome, Laura."

"Thanks, Wood."

"Why do you call me Wood and not Oliver?"

I looked over at him. "Everyone calls you Wood."

"Not girls."

I laughed. "That's not true. Anyway, what does it matter?"

"You called me Oliver when we were younger."

"I'm still missing the point. And I still call you Oliver, sometimes."

"When you mean something."

"Yes. Isn't that good? You know when I mean something."

"I'd rather think you always meant what you said."

"I do. I just mean some things more. And you haven't always called me Laura."

"Yes, I have."

"No, you haven't. In our second year after that whole fight, you didn't call me anything at all. In our third and fourth years, you called me You. In our fifth year, I was promoted to Hey You, and then in our sixth year, you didn't call me anything at all, again."

Wood laughed. "How do you remember that?"

"I just do. I remember a lot about people. Things that don't matter."

"Why do you call me Wood instead of Oliver?" he asked again.

I sighed. "You aren't going to drop this, are you?"

"No."

"If you tell me why it matters, then maybe I'll think of why I don't call you Oliver."

"Fair enough," he said. "It matters because how you address someone tells a little about what you think about them, and I want to know why you only call me Wood."

I looked down (well, down a little bit) into my lap. "I never really thought about it. Not really. I guess, Oliver is just a more personal way of addressing you, and I still… being civil with each other still seems strange sometimes."

"OK."

"I didn't mean that in a mean way or—"

"I know."

"OK. Oliver?"

"Call me Wood or Oliver. It doesn't really matter."

I started to roll my eyes but stopped myself. "There's no reason why I shouldn't call you Oliver. Even if I'm not used to you being my friend, you are, and if calling you Oliver is important to you, then Oliver you are."

"It's not important."

"If it weren't then I don't think you would have asked."

"Or I could have just been trying to get a rise out of you."

"You've had enough practice with that to find better ways of doing it."

"True," he said, seriously. "By Merlin's beard, it is taking a long time for someone to come to our rescue." That's funny because I, my friends, am ByMerlinsBeard. Shameless…. I know.

"Someone should have come by now, right?" The readers probably think so. Too bad. I have to establish some character traits to make the story more believable later. ;)

"Not necessarily. If the game is going strong, then the other team'll probably purposely stay clear of here because we're two people they don't have to worry about. Even if they think we're only one person."

"But what about our team?"

"It's a square mile of land. Chance would be the only to bring them here."

"Unless we yell."

"Which would bring both sides here."

"Good. They'll get us down."

"But our side would get tagged, and that would do more harm than good. There are two more games. We'll play then."

"If we get down by then," I muttered.

"Right," he said, seriously.

"It's too bad you didn't go with Adam," I said.

"You still may have ended up in this trap, just with Joan. They'd have sent Adam and I the long way, just to keep Adam out of the way. His team always wins, but not thanks to him."

I laughed. "That wasn't very nice."

"Hey, I'm a Quidditch captain. Strategy matters more than people's feelings to me."

"Maybe in Quidditch it does, but I don't believe that applies in every day life."

"No?"

"No."

"Then you may end up unpleasantly surprised one day," Oliver said.

I shook my head. "I don't think you've changed that much since we started Hogwarts."

"I've changed a lot. So have you."

"I've had to, I guess. To keep up with everything."

"I have too."

"To the point where you don't care about others' feelings?"

"That isn't what I said. I don't care to the point where others' feelings will get in the way."

"In the way of what?"

"What I want," he said simply and unapologetically.

"You sound like a Slytherin," I said.

"I don't not care that much," he said.

"Is there much of a difference between how much you don't care and that much?"

"What are you lecturing me? How many times have you put your wants or needs on hold for others' feelings?"

"More than you'll ever know."

"Oh? Name one."

"Every time Percy needed me!"

"Every time Percy needed you?"

I took a deep breath. "Look. We've been doing well. We're stuck in a net together and we haven't fought yet, but we're right on the brink of doing so."

"I want to know how you've helped Percy—"

"But it isn't any of your business, is it?" I interrupted, a little more harsly than I'd wanted to. I took another breath. "I'm sorry."

"No. You're right. It isn't any of my business."

I smiled into the darkness. "I think we just solved a… disagreement without many harsh words."

"God help us, we're actually learning to get along," Oliver said, laughing.

A horn sounded a little ways off.

"We won," he said.

"How can you tell?"

"The tone was the Warlocks' tone. It's lower than the Wizards'. Someone should be coming along soon."

And he was right. About five minutes later, without any conversations, a member of the other side did come to check her trap.

"Oliver?" she asked.

"Hey, Aunt Celeste."

She laughed in a sort of sing-song laugh. "Well, I certainly didn't expect to catch you here, Oliver. And it's even more of a shock to find another person with you. Mind introducing me?"

"Mind getting us down first?" Oliver asked, although good-naturedly.

The woman magicked us out of her trap, and the two of us painfully straightened our backs. She looked kind of young to be Oliver's aunt. She was maybe thirty.

"I'm Laura Debman," I said, offering the woman my hand.

"Nice to meet you, Laura. I'm Celeste Wood," she said, shaking my hand firmly. "How do you know Oliver?"

"Hogwarts," he said. "We're both in Gryffindor. Seventh Years."

"Are you a Seventh Year, now? Why, I can't believe it. It seems like you were just a First Year days ago."

"No, it doesn't," Wood said, laughing.

"It doesn't now, but as you get older, the faster the years will seem to go for you. We watched you teach Laura how to dance. It was more interesting to watch than most years," Celeste said, looking at me and smiling kindly.

Oliver laughed. "You all still watch me dance?"

"It's why your mother still has these parties."

"I thought you danced outside," I said.

"He did."

"And my family would come out and try to look inconspicuous."

"And failed miserably, obviously," Celeste said, laughing.

I couldn't help smiling when she laughed. She was just that kind of person. She could spread cheer easily. I easily got over the fact that I had just hung out of a tree in a net for the past half an hour.

"I think you're getting better at dancing, Oliver," Celeste said, looking him in the eyes. They were almost exactly the same height.

"Thank you," he said.

"My lack of coordination must make you look good," I said.

"No, that wasn't it," she said. She laughed. "We should get back to the house for the next round. Broomsticks are allowed in the next match."

The two Woods started for the house with me close behind, although with more of a distance than the last time I'd followed Oliver.

Our team lost the next game, but won the last one, further proving Adam to be a good luck charm. I had fun acting as a decoy with Joan, so others could sneak in and take the flag while the Wizards' attention was diverted.

We went back into the main room to find the older couples dancing. All of us watched them for a few songs. Mr. Wood came up on my left near the end of the second song.

"When I was a boy, this is how all of the dancing was. The dances were more complex, and there were more dances than just the one you learned tonight."

I nodded, still watching the people on the floor. It wasn't only individual couples moving along to the beat of their own drums. Everything was synchronized. The man nearest to me was dancing just as much with the woman on the farthest side of the floor as he was with his dancing partner.

"Children don't learn the old dances anymore. I only know one or two," Mr. Wood continued.

"Have Oliver learn them so he can teach them to all of us," I said, smiling and looking at Mr. Wood briefly.

"He has no desire to learn them. And I don't blame him. It's a new time. It's not these people's age anymore," he said, motioning towards the older couples.

"I always think of the wizarding world as having no ages. It seems old-fashioned to me, although we can do things I only dreamed were possible when I was little. Some things magic can do I couldn't even dream of now."

"No. Things change just as quickly in the magical world as they do in the Muggle one." He paused. "But that isn't what I wanted to speak with you about."

I stopped smiling and looked over at the man standing beside me. It took less than the tone of this voice to know that I wouldn't enjoy what was coming.

"All right," I said, "but if you're going to talk about what happened five years ago—"

"No," Mr. Wood interrupted. "Just one thing."

"OK," I said, cautiously.

"Leave him alone," Mr. Wood said. He walked away without even looking at me.

My mouth was hanging open a little as I watched him leave. I was confused. I continued to look in the same direction even a few minutes after Mr. Wood's retreating back had disappeared in the crowd.

"Something wrong?"

I turned to see Oliver and shook my head, more to say I didn't know than to say no, but Wood took it as a no.

"Well, then… it's kind of an off year as far as teaching people to dance goes—"

"Thanks, a lot," I said.

"No, I mean, there's no one to teach."

"I'm going to assume that didn't come out right, either," I said, laughing.

"It didn't," Oliver said. He laughed. "The party will end soon, now that Wizards and Warlocks is over. The rest of the time people will just spend dancing and talking, and, well… we both need someone to dance with."

I raised an eyebrow. "You're asking me to dance?"

"Yes."

"Did hell freeze over? Because I told Percy to notify me immediately if it did."

Oliver laughed a little under his breath. "You danced with me before and it wasn't a big deal."

"You made me."

"Oh, I see. I just have to guilt you into it again, then, right?"

I laughed. "No, I don't think my pride can take that twice in one night."

"Good," Wood said, motioning towards the dance floor.

"Well… I was going to ask that cute Ravenclaw over there if he'd like to dance, but then what kind of friend would I be?"

"Who? Maybe I can introduce you to him," Oliver said, turning towards where the Ravenclaws were sitting.

"I was kidding," I said, walking onto the floor.

"Oh," Wood said, following.

I had fun dancing with him. We didn't argue, even when I stepped on his foot after about thirty minutes.

"See? How could you not look like a good dancer in comparison to me?" I asked, smiling.

"Don't look down at the floor. You looked down."

"Yeah. Sorry."

"You admit it?"

"Admit it? What? Looking down at the floor? Sure, I admit it. I did it."

"But there was a time when you'd have never admitted it."

"And during that time, I never would've been dancing with you," I said, laughing.

"You're right."

"See? I never thought you'd say that to me, either."

Oliver only nodded, looking over my shoulder.

"Should I dare to turn around and see what you're looking at?"

"No. There's nothing to see. My dad was looking strangely over here for a minute."

"Oh," I said, forgetting to dance for a few beats, causing Wood to step on my foot.

"Sorry," he said, getting us back on the beat. "Why'd you stop?"

"Your dad doesn't like me."

"He knows about you," Wood said, seriously.

I laughed because it was the first reaction to come to me. "Ouch."

"I only told him the truth."

"Including recently?"

"I tell him everything."

"Even that you don't hate me anymore," I asked, carefully.

"And how do you know I don't?"

"I'm serious, Oliver."

"Yes, I told him that I don't hate you."

"And he doesn't believe you?"

"He believes me. He just doesn't… agree with me."

I nodded, trying to keep myself from getting angry. "I can understand. I guess."

Joan tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned around, away from Wood. She was smiling to herself.

"Ready to go?" I asked, putting my hands down at my sides.

"Yes," she said, still smiling. "Thank you for inviting us, Oliver."

He nodded. "I'm glad you could come. I'll walk you to the fireplace."

We thanked Oliver's parents. Mr. Wood didn't show any signs of not trusting me. Mrs. Wood hugged Joan and then me. I smiled broadly back at her after she let go.

"You kids keep growing up so quickly," she said, looking at us. "I have pictures of you all when you were eleven. It's amazing how much you change in those seven years at Hogwarts, isn't it?"

I agreed, trying to remember any pictures being taken of me when I was eleven. It was possible, but I didn't remember ever meeting Oliver's parents until that night.

We thanks Mr. and Mrs. Wood again before following Oliver into the hallway.

"There will always be these parties, won't there?" Joan asked.

"What do you mean?" Wood asked.

"I mean… after we graduate, we'll always be able to see each other on New Year's?"

"For many years, yes," he said, smiling kindly at Joan.

"How long have there been New Year's parties here?" I asked.

"Since my grandfather was young."

"Wow," I said.

"It's tradition. That's why Dad keeps having these parties."

"Will you?" Joan asked.

Wood looked at her questioningly.

"I mean, if you inherit the house, years from now, will there still be New Year's parties here?"

Oliver shrugged. "I've never really thought about it. I guess, as long as people keep coming, there will be parties here."

"Good," Joan said, as we reached the room we would leave from. "Thanks for inviting us, Oliver," she said, reaching up to hug him.

He returned her hug without seeming uncomfortable at all. Was there ever someone I could hug like that, that I wasn't related to? Percy? Yes. I used to be able to hug Percy like that. Just a friendly hug that didn't mean anything except everything.

"Something wrong?" Oliver asked.

I snapped back into the real world and forced myself to smile quickly. "No," I lied. "I was just thinking about Percy."

"Oh," Wood said, plainly.

Joan slapped him playfully.

"If you two could only be friends again…." I said.

He looked a little irritated but forced himself to smile, too. "We would both have to give up too much," he said.

"Too much what?" Joan asked.

"Pride," Oliver said. He laughed a little under his breath. "Thanks for coming, girls. See you in a couple of days."

I spent a few hours at Joan's house, sleeping, before getting ready to go back to Oliver's aunt's house to get my car and drive home. After saying goodbye to Joan's family, who treated me like an honored guest during breakfast, I walked with Joan into the living room, where their fireplace was.

"You're glad you came, aren't you?" Joan asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. Thank you very much for letting me stay here until after curfew was over."

"It was no problem. Our pleasure."

"The pleasure was mine."

Joan laughed. "Now that the necessary polite comments are over…."

"I meant it."

"I know you did. But you had fun last night?"

"Of course."

"You looked like you were but… I wasn't sure."

"Why not?"

"Because it looked like you were having fun with Oliver Wood."

It was my turn to laugh.

"It was kind of reassuring. Like when we were younger. We've all tried to be his friends and we succeeded, Laura, don't get me wrong. We've just never been able to be his best friends."

I shrugged. "Quidditch it Oliver's best friend," I said, plainly.

"Now it is. Anyways, it's nice to see you two as friends again."

"Yes," I agreed. "Why didn't he invite Percy and I to the party when we were first years?"

"Percy was there. His parents invited people when Oliver was younger. His parents didn't know your parents, so they didn't invite them."

"Oh." I looked at the clock. "I'm late. Thanks again for letting me stay."

"Anytime. I'll see you tomorrow."

I groaned. "Ugh. Back to school work."

She smiled. "And Hogwarts."

I took a small amount of Floo Powder and went to Mrs. Lanolin's house.

She was sitting in one of the chairs, which I thought was rather brave of her. When she saw me, she stood up, smiling broadly.

"Hello," she said, loudly.

"Hello. Sorry I'm late."

"It's OK. It was a late night. You probably overslept by a few minute, right?"

I smiled. Let her assume what she wanted.

"Have a nice time?"

"Yes," I said, kindly, following her through the living room, still making an attempt to stay away from the furniture.

"Good."

"Thank you for letting me keep the car here overnight and use your fireplace, Mrs. Lanolin," I said once we'd reached the front door.

"Oh, anything for Oliver's friends." She opened the door slightly. "Let me know if you ever need to borrow the fireplace again, OK?" she asked.

I nodded. "Thank you. Happy New Year," I said, placing a hand on the door.

"You, too."

I left the house quickly, knowing this time what it was that the neighbors weren't supposed to see. I drove home and slept most of the day. That evening I got my stuff together for school.

_Author's Note_: Yes, that was a long chapter. Almost 50 pages. I didn't want to cut the Christmas vacation into pieces. I hope you liked the chapter despite its length. In the next chapter: many secrets revealed! What enigma is the Quidditch stadium holding? What is up with that Ford Anglia? And what happened to Daniel Weasley? How exciting!


	6. Quidditch Captains

**Chapter 6: Quidditch Captains **

I sat with Percy on the way back to Hogwarts. He was still depressed about breaking up with Penelope. He said that they mutually decided to break up because Penelope felt like she needed more space. I listened sympathetically. I was happy, though. I had Percy back. As mad as I was at him for ditching me for months, I forgave him because I needed him. I still needed him.

When school started again, the teachers were all placing their emphasis on preparing us for the N.E.W.T.s. It was… well… nauseatingly exhausting. I spent most of my spare time with Percy in the library, studying.

Really, I spent most of my time with Percy. Everything was going back to how it was before Percy and Penelope started dating. Percy and I were best friends again. I was really happy, for a while. Until I realized that I missed my other friends.

Percy and Oliver were fighting more than they ever had. They wouldn't just ignore each other anymore. They would go out of their way to start something. But now, I wasn't on Percy's side. Or Oliver's side. No, now I was trying to play the role of the peacemaker. If studying for N.E.W.T.s was nauseatingly exhausting, trying to keep the peace between two of my friends was impossibly grueling.

I usually spent about half an hour with the rest of the Seventh Years while Percy got ready for bed. He went to bed earlier than most of us did.

"Why do you put up with that bloody idiot?" Oliver asked one night, a few days into February.

I rubbed my temples. "You two give me the worst headaches," I muttered.

"He left you alone for over a year, and you automatically just welcomed—"

I interrupted him by holding up my hand. "I'm tired, Oliver. Just… give it a rest for tonight, OK?"

Oliver didn't answer. He just stood up and left.

I looked over at the rest of the Seventh Years and smiled a little. "I can't put up with them for much longer."

"Maybe you should talk to him," Joan said. "He seemed a little… mad."

I sighed but stood up. "All right."

I walked out of the Common Room and turned to the Fat Lady.

"Do you know where Oliver went?"

"That way," the Fat Lady said, pointing to her left.

"Thanks." I turned, relieved. At least he didn't go the other way. The left part of the hallway led to a short hallway with two dead ends. I walked down to the little hall and saw Oliver looking out the window on my left. I walked up behind him.

"I'm sorry I cut you off. Go ahead and say what you need to."

Oliver shook his head.

"I'm trying, Oliver." I sighed again. "The truth is… I've never been able to be a good friend to you both."

"Percy always seems to get the better deal," he said, blandly. He smiled a little at me.

I grinned back. "I'm sorry." I walked up next to him to look out the window, too. There was a full moon shining wonderfully on the lake. It was beautiful.

"I miss you," I whispered. "All of you," I added quickly. I blushed. Hadn't I been planning on saying 'all of you' to begin with?

"So you ignore us," Wood said, shaking his head.

"What am I supposed to do? Tell Percy that I'm going to spend some time with my other friends? Leave him alone? Haven't I done that one too many times? I'm trying to learn. And the two of you fight so badly, I can't spend time with you both."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both," I admitted.

"What about Joan?" Oliver asked, quickly. "She took you under her wing, and when you didn't need her anymore, you left."

"She doesn't need me either," I said, looking down at my hands, which were resting on the window sill.

"But she misses you. We all do."

I moved my thumbs around each other slowly. "If you would only apologize—"

"Not again… do you ever ask him to—"

"You know as well as I do that he would never make the first move at becoming friends—"

"Then why should I?" Oliver asked, bitterly.

"So it can be like it was," I said, looking up at him.

Oliver didn't answer. He kept looking out the window, angrily.

I sighed. "I'll spend more time with you guys."

"If you want to be with Percy, then—"

"I want to be with you," I interrupted. I blushed again. I put a hand up to my forehead to check my temperature, knowing that I was fine. "You know what I meant," I muttered.

Oliver didn't say anything for a few minutes, so I tried to explain what I was thinking.

"You know… the last time I was really happy was when we were all first and second years. Maybe for a few weeks the summer before our fourth year, too, but… never mind. Even though we were technically competing over Percy all of the time, you were still my friend, Oliver. Maybe that's why I took Percy's side. I could win the competition. I wish I hadn't, now. You know I'm sorry about what happened. I know you know that. I know you're sorry, too. Now you can end it. After five years, you can end it. We can just be three equal friends."

He looked down at me kindly and my stomach dropped. Don't make things more complicated, I told myself sternly.

And I knew that it was too late for us to be three equal friends. I didn't need Oliver to know it. I certainly didn't need Percy to know it. I could deal with it. It didn't matter. It would go away.

"I won't apologize," he said. "But I'll try to stop fighting with him so much. You know… for your sake. Because I rather enjoy arguing with him."

I laughed. "I know what you mean. I kind of enjoy arguing with him, too. And you, for that matter."

He looked down at me, and I scared myself again. I nodded and walked away quickly, saying something about homework and sleeping. I went upstairs and talked myself into believing that nothing had changed since… since… hell, since when didn't matter. Nothing had changed since whenever.

I did start spending more time with the rest of the Seventh Years. Percy didn't seem to care much. While this did hurt a little, it was almost a relief, as it made things easier. I still spent more time with Percy than I did with my other friends, but I spent enough time with them that it was normal when I was with them, and not forced as it had been when I had spent less than an hour a day with them.

Around the beginning of March, I got bored studying with Percy and decided to go look for other people.

"I'm going to go outside. I'm getting cabin fever," I said.

"Yeah, OK," Percy said, distracted by his studying and dreams of receiving enough N.E.W.T.s to put him in a good position at the Ministry.

I went out to the front steps and looked around the grounds. There were people sitting around on the grass near the lake. Mainly first and second years. The older students on the grounds were studying. I didn't want to do more of that.

I decided to go to the Quidditch pitch. Gryffindor was still in the running for the Quidditch Cup, and Oliver spent any free time he had trying to figure out how they were going to win it. I worried that he was neglecting his studies, but he assured me that he was studying more than I thought he was.

Sure enough, Oliver was flying idly around the goals on the other side of the field from where I'd come in. He seemed to be deep in though. I walked across the grass. He noticed me when I got a little past half way to him.

He flew over and landed right in front of me, smiling. "Hey," he said. "Something wrong?"

"No. I just got tired of memorizing Potions ingredients from potions we haven't done since we were First Years. How are your plans going?"

"We're going to win that Cup," Oliver said.

I nodded. "I hope you do."

"Why? You couldn't care less about Quidditch," Oliver said, walking with me towards the locker rooms.

"True, but I want Gryffindor to do well in everything, and I want you to do well, too. I know how much the Cup means to you."

He nodded.

"Don't worry. I have no doubts that you'll win it this year."

He loosened up again. "Thanks." We kept walking in silence for several seconds. "There's something I want to show you."

"OK. Where is it?" I asked.

"The locker room. Kind of, anyway. You'll see."

I'd never been in the locker rooms before. Gryffindor's was rather dull, but comfortable. Oliver walked up next to a chalkboard with some X's and O's drawn onto it. He pulled it out away from the wall on one side.

"It's through here," he said, motioning behind the chalkboard.

"Through where? The wall?" I asked.

He smiled. "Why do you look surprised? This is Hogwarts' Quidditch stadium, isn't it?"

"It's through the wall?" I asked again.

He nodded, turned, walked behind the chalkboard and disappeared.

I hurried over to look. I was feeling along the wall when his hand shot out and pulled me through. I hit another wall about two feet past the one I'd just gone through. It didn't hurt much, since right after pulling me through the wall, Oliver pushed me back a little.

"People have heart attacks because of things like that," I said under my breath.

"Sorry," Oliver said, shortly.

I looked up. I couldn't see anything.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"In between the outer wall and what everyone assumes is the outer wall."

Suddenly I felt very claustrophobic, and, of course, I said so.

"Yeah, that's the drawback about this whole thing," Oliver agreed. "It's worth it. Trust me."

I sighed. "God help me, but I do."

He laughed. "Just keep walking towards your left. You can probably walk normally, but it will make the space seem smaller. If you walk sideways, there's more room on each side of you."

"OK," I said, following his voice. It was pitch black in the little space. I reached out and found his arm, so I grabbed his sleeve.

"Nervous?" Oliver asked.

"I can't see you. This way, I won't run into you," I said.

"You won't run into me."

"Not this way, I won't," I agreed.

He laughed again. "Well, it's about a fifteen minute walk. Your arm is going to get tired like that."

"Do you want me to let go of your cloak, Oliver?" I asked.

"More or less," he said.

"Fine," I said, more harshly than I meant it. I took my hand away from his arm.

About a minute later, he took my hand. I jumped a little. "I don't want to leave you too far behind in here," Oliver said.

I smiled, but he couldn't see that.

We kept walking for about ten to fifteen minutes. I didn't like the narrow walkway much, but I was thinking more about where we were going and holding Oliver's hand. Oliver stopped suddenly, with a muffled sound of pain. He had run into something and I had run into him right after that.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"It's OK. We're there."

I looked around quickly. "I don't see anything," I said after a few seconds.

"Because we haven't gone inside yet."

I could tell from the change in the air that Oliver opened a door. He stepped trough and pulled my arm gently so that I would follow. I felt him go behind me and shut the door again, but it was still too dark to see anything.

"Dan Weasley brought me here the year before he died. Charlie had brought him here first."

"Where are we?" I asked, patiently.

"I'll show you. Lumos."

Oliver's wand lit up and he raised the beam of light towards the ceiling. Not that I could see the ceiling. Sparkling things were blocking the view. It took me a few moments to realize what they were. There were hundreds of Golden Snitches flying around.

"Oh my," I whispered. "It's… amazing."

"Every year, the team captain of the house that wins the Quidditch Cup releases the Snitch from that year into this room. Then he or she shakes the Headmaster's hand, then the Deputy Headmaster's hand, and then the head of his house's hand, and then the hands of the other three heads of the houses."

I smiled. "Is that written down somewhere?"

"Yes, in Hogwarts, A History, but Dan told me first."

I felt strange… sad and happy about being in a place that Dan considered important enough to share with others. Was it ironic that Oliver was showing it to me? Maybe a little.

"But why are they here? I mean… why do they need new ones every year?"

"Well, the Golden Snitches can be injured and need to be replaced, but mainly it's so the Snitches don't develop biases."

"What?" I asked, laughing a little.

"No one's sure why, but enough of certain types of charms and spells seem to make inanimate things… conscious, in some sense of the word. Golden Snitches have so much magic in them, they're almost alive. Other things seem to be like that, as well. Fred and George said that they used to have an enchanted car, and Ron Weasley swears up and down that the car saved Potter and him from death. Personally, I think he dreamt it, but a car becoming… aware of itself and others is possible."

I didn't know what to say. I had never heard of this theory or whatever it was.

"Hogwarts probably has this consciousness, too," Oliver added.

"You're saying that Hogwarts can think?"

"Kind of, but it may be more accurate to say that Hogwarts can feel and acts out of its feelings."

"So the Golden Snitches start to feel certain ways towards certain houses, and they impact the outcomes of the games unless they're replaced frequently."

"Exactly," Oliver said, sounding relieved that he didn't have to explain it another way.

"I don't know how I feel about living inside of something that's… kind of human."

"I wouldn't call any of these things almost human. Maybe they're better than humans, in many ways. They don't think. They don't have logic. They do what they feel like doing. They're more free than humans will ever be."

I was surprised.

"You think about this a lot, don't you?" I asked. I was watching the places Oliver's wand lit up. The room was plain. The walls were smooth, but were only made up of gray bricks. The walls made the Snitches look even more beautiful than they already were.

"Yes," I do," Oliver said distractedly.

"Why'd you bring me here?"

"I know that you don't care about Quidditch, and I wanted you to see it in a way that you wouldn't see as stupid. Quidditch is more than people flying around on brooms, trying to score points, or, in my case, trying to prevent people from scoring points. It's more than a sport. It's… an art. A lifestyle. An obsession. It's me. I've always been able to count on Quidditch."

"I don't hate Quidditch," I said. "I've cared about too many people who see Quidditch like you do to hate it."

"Dan?" Oliver asked, almost in a whisper.

"Dan, and all of the Weasleys, and you, and, well, most of my friends, not that I… wait." I turned to look at Oliver. I could barely see him in the small amount of light that was coming towards us. "Why'd you ask about Dan specifically?" I said, trying not to let any emotion come through.

"I… I could be wrong, but… I figured it out. I think."

"Did the girls tell you?"

"The girls? You mean, Joan and Cedar and—"

"Yes," I said.

"No. They know?"

"They know what?" I asked.

"That you… you and Dan… I think. I don't know for sure," Oliver said at last.

"You figured it out," I said, quietly, more to myself than to him.

"It took a dream about him. I mean, I dreamt that he was the Quidditch captain again, and you were dating him in the dream. When I woke up, I started thinking about some of the things you've said and… how you're still really upset sometimes."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Why on Earth should you be sorry?" he asked, more kindly than he'd ever talked to me before.

"I'm sorry that it was so obvious. I'm sorry for some of the things I said to you. I'm sorry that he died, and I'm sorry that I never recognized the fact that you cared about him, too."

"It wasn't obvious. I… I never—"

"Thought about the possibility?" I laughed a little under my breath. "Neither did I until… even after… it wasn't until he died that I thought about there being a possibility that we could have been together. He was too old at the time. I was too young. I don't know. There was the age difference that we knew people wouldn't understand, and the age difference made us feel uncomfortable, too."

Oliver didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry again. You don't want to know about—"

"I do, though," Oliver interrupted. "I do want to know," he said in that kind voice again.

I nodded, slowly. "OK. I don't know where to start now, though. I was just… rambling."

"Did he know how you felt?" Oliver asked.

"I didn't even know how I felt. I still don't know how I felt. He knew that I liked him as more than a friend, yes."

"Did he… I don't want to pry. I feel too nosey."

"Don't. I think it helps to talk about him, and there aren't many people I can talk to about him."

"Percy?"

"I've never talked to Percy about Dan since he died. Percy doesn't know about Dan and I."

"You never told him?" Oliver asked.

"I didn't want to hurt Percy any more than he was already hurting. So don't worry about prying. I trust you. I also trust you enough not to use anything I say against any Weasley. Meaning Percy. OK?"

"I wouldn't—"

"I wouldn't tell you if I didn't know that. I just want to make sure."

"I won't tell Percy anything you say." Oliver wasn't moving his wand around the room much now, so I lit my own. "Did he… feel the same way?"

"I don't know. We didn't talk about us much. I wish we would have, now, but at the time… I figured there would be enough time for everything to resolve itself. I figured we'd figure everything out when school started again."

I told Oliver about what Dan and I would talk about. I told him about how we would argue over most things we started out talking about. But, eventually, I had to get to the part that I needed to talk about.

"And you were there when he had his accident," Oliver said, very carefully.

I nodded, deciding whether I really wanted to tell him what I'd been telling myself for three years.

"It was my fault," I said, quietly, slowly.

"What?" Oliver asked, standing up. We had been leaning against the wall by the door, both of us using our wands to look at the Snitches flying.

I looked over at Oliver. He was looking at me, almost like he was scared.

"I was leaving that morning. I wanted to say goodbye to him, without his family there. Do you understand? I wanted to be able to talk to him and kiss him goodbye, but I couldn't do that with the Weasleys bustling about, helping me get my things together at the last minute.

"I asked him to meet me out in the Quidditch field behind the Weasleys' house. We'd been spending time out there every day, anyway. I felt comfortable there.

"I was a few minutes late. I couldn't find one of my school books, and I was searching Ginny's room for it. I was a few minutes late…."

I'd spent four years trying not to think about that morning. I'd never told anyone the whole truth about what had happened and how I felt about it. After Oliver, I never told anyone else about it. I needed another person to know, though. I needed someone to understand.

"He way lying on the ground when I got there. I ran over… and… his hair was even redder than normal. From blood. And… I tried to wake him up as carefully as I could. I checked his breathing and his heart, and he was still alive. So… I sent up large flares and loud noises with my wand, which I had with me because I was leaving. I still don't know what spells I cast, but it worked. Mr. Weasley Apparated out onto the Quidditch pitch. He didn't ask me any questions… ever… he just made a stretcher appear and magicked Dan onto it.

"We ran back to the Burrow. We passed the rest of the Weasleys about halfway there. They followed us back. Mrs. Weasley… Mrs. Weasley… tried to stop the bleeding while Mr. Weasley tried to get help. I watched their clock. It shows where all of the Weasleys are. Dan's was spinning, slowly at first, and then faster and faster…. It couldn't find him. I don't really remember anything after that."

I put a hand over my mouth, trying to stop myself from crying, even though I knew that it was hopeless. Once my tears started flowing, I concentrated on saying the next part without letting any sobs escape.

"If I'd been on time, maybe there's had been enough time to save him. Or maybe he'd have never fallen at all. I shouldn't have asked him to come to begin with. I wanted ten minutes with him, alone, away from his family, and I ended up taking him away from his family forever," I said, failing my battle with my emotions miserably. I finally broke down, letting all of my weight fall against the wall.

"I… I shouldn't have brought this up. I knew… but I shouldn't have let my curiousity…."

"I didn't have to tell you," I said, composing myself enough to stand up without the wall. "It's not your fault."

"It's not yours either," he said, softly. "It wasn't your fault he fell. Accidents happen."

I wiped tears away from my face, still crying, although quieter now. "I know they do," I said, "but I made several circumstances that made the accident possible."

"But it was still an accident, Laura. I knew Dan very well, and I know that he would NEVER blame you for what happened."

"I've told myself that for years, but I still feel… so guilty," I said, bringing a hand up to my mouth again because I felt another wave of sobs coming.

And Oliver did what was probably the worst thing he could have done to try to stop me from crying. He stepped over and hugged me.

I buried half of my face in his shoulder and clutched his cloak, as any self-control and dignity I had left disappeared. I all but collapsed into sobs.

Oliver kept me up. He said that he thought I had probably put this off for too long. I didn't hear anything else he said, and I don't know if he cried or not.

Now that I've had truly enough time to reflect on everything, Oliver was right when he said that I had put off this crying for too long. I had cried more than my fair share of tears over the incident, but I had never let the feelings go while doing it.

And, honestly, it wasn't only guilt about Dan's death that was making me cry. The vast majority of it was. But I felt guilty about Dan's life, too. I felt guilty that while I had loved Dan, I had never fallen in love with him. I felt guilty that I had never told Dan that I loved him when he could hear me. I was considering telling him the morning he died, but I probably wouldn't have. I only told him when he was unconscious, and that is something that I never told anyone, not even Oliver. And despite all of this that was racking me with guilt, what made me feel the most like a bad person was that this hug from Oliver meant more to me than any kiss from Dan had.

After what seemed like forever, I finally got enough control that I was barely crying anymore. I let go of Oliver's cloak and tried to brush out any wrinkles there have been that I couldn't see in the dark. I pulled back a little, self-consciously, and patted my pockets, feeling for my wand.

Oliver bent down and picked up my wand. I hadn't remembered dropping it. He handed it over to me.

I took it carefully. "Lumos." I looked around us to find the Golden Snitches hovering around us. I stepped back towards the wall and gasped a little. The Snitches scattered quickly.

"See? I told you they can feel," Oliver said quietly.

I nodded.

The two of us stood looking at the Snitches for a few minutes in an uncomfortable silence.

"I'm—"

"Don't say you're sorry again," Oliver said, almost strictly.

I almost started crying again. "Then, thank you… you know… for being there, I guess," I said, quietly, my face burning. "I know… I know you lost him, too, Oliver."

"Not like you—"

"Exactly like I did," I said. "He cared about you."

"I know. He… was a good captain. I try to be like him, but I can't. I don't have the same… I don't even know what he had that I can't seem to get."

"I'm sure you're a good captain, too, Oliver."

"We haven't won that Cup yet while I've been captain."

"Your Seeker has a lot to do with that."

"Potter's why we've won most of our games."

"You taught him."

"He didn't need me to teach him. He's a natural. I never knew what a natural was until I saw that kid fly."

"Then you let him do his own thing. You let him learn on his own. That can be just as hard as teaching."

Oliver laughed. "You're trying to make me feel better."

I smiled. "I owe you that much, don't I?"

"No," he said, seriously.

"Well, you may have admired Dan, but he returned that admiration."

"Don't make up—"

"I would never lie about the things that Dan told me," I said. "He told me he was preparing you to be the next captain, after he graduated. He said he saw himself as that captain in between Charlie Weasley and Oliver Wood."

"The Gryffindor Quidditch team would never have seen him like that," Oliver said.

"I hope not, but what does it matter, if that's how he saw you?"

Oliver didn't say anything.

I smiled at him. I waited a minute so he could let that sink in. "He told me about your pre-match rituals."

"He didn't," Oliver said, snapping back into reality.

I laughed and rubbed my eyes, trying to loosen them up from the tears. "Honestly, I think it's cute."

"He told you?" Oliver asked.

"You really sit in a room and talk to your dad's picture?"

"Oh, God, he did tell you," Oliver groaned.

"And then you put on your Quidditch robes inside out, turn around three times saying 'Smoking is silly, drinking's a sin, I don't do either, so, God, let us win.' Then you turn your robes back the way they're supposed to be, put them on, lay your broom on the ground and jump over it."

By this time Oliver was laughing and blushing so much I could see his cheeks turn red in the dim light. "Tell me you didn't tell anyone else."

"Percy," I admitted.

He groaned. "That means the whole school must know."

"Who would Percy tell?" I asked. "That wasn't very nice," I scolded myself.

Oliver laughed a little more genuinely. "Did Dan ever tell you his pre-match rituals?"

"I asked him to but he wouldn't."

"He would go around the locker room, touching the number of every locker in there. Then he would go to his own locker, open it and write down the name of a girl…." He stopped.

"Go on. I don't mind," I said sincerely.

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"I don't… if it will hurt you—"

"Don't worry. I only break down talking about his death, not his life."

Oliver nodded. After a few seconds, he said, "He respected you."

I smiled. "I know he respected me, Oliver."

"No, I mean… he gave respect to everyone, but certain people he respected."

"I don't understand."

"Isn't there someone whom you would never even dream of being rude to because you look up to them, in some way? It's different than using your manners. It's respect.

"There's one thing he said that I can remember perfectly, word-for-word. It was about you. And me, but the reason I remember it is because I thought he was wrong. I respected him like he respected you, Laura, and him being wrong was something I never forgot. It lowered my opinion of him. He went from a superhero to a hero… but being a hero is better.

"It was during my third year. I still didn't really have good friends. I was hanging around with the other third years, but they weren't my friends yet. Anyway, after a practice one night, I said something about you that wasn't very nice. I don't remember what I said. Only what he said.

"He said, 'That girl's loyalty is so strong, she couldn't support you both. It would have been unloyal to both of you. So she chose Percy. Percy needed her more than you did, Wood. Now, either you can prove Laura right, and be strong, like she knows you are, or you can keep feeling sorry for yourself.'"

I didn't say anything. That's how Daniel saw what I did to Oliver by ditching him for Percy? Is that how it was? No, not really how it was. But Dan did see the best in people.

"That was the only time that Dan ever said something to me that made me want to cry. I said, 'I thought Hufflepuffs were supposed to be loyal. A Gryffindor would stand up for both of her friends,' under my breath."

I looked away from him.

"And Dan laughed."

"What?" I asked, looking back at him, a little angrily.

Oliver was smiling, which only made me angrier. I felt like I was being attacked, which, maybe in some ways I was, but Oliver wasn't doing the attacking. I was.

"Yeah, Dan laughed at me. 'Is that how you see it?' he asked. I responded that it was. He shook his head, still smiling, and said, 'Then were you ever really her friend, or a friend of her friend?' When I didn't answer, he said, 'Because if you really were her friend, then, yes, your comment would be deserved, but I don't think you were.'

"I asked him why he didn't think so, and how he would know anyway. He said, 'Because if you earn her loyalty, you'll never lose it, Wood.'"

I was crying again, silently, still not looking at Oliver.

"He really said all of that?" I asked.

"Yeah, he really said all of that."

"He was wrong," I said.

"No he wasn't. We never got to be friends in our own rite. We were too worried about being Percy's friend to ever become good friends ourselves. We may have been more than acquaintances, but we weren't as good of friends with each other as we were with Percy. Dan was right."

I turned to look Oliver in the eyes, not caring if he saw my tears, now. Hell, what did it matter after the scene I'd made earlier?

"I remember being friends."

"Really? Really friends?" he asked.

I thought for a few seconds. I remembered being around Percy and Oliver all of the time. I remembered feeling a little left out because I was a girl. Everything I remembered about Oliver from that time did have to do with Percy, although the same couldn't be said for Percy. I remembered things about Percy that Oliver had nothing to do with.

"Maybe not," I said, slowly. "But that's no excuse for taking Percy's side automatically."

Now it was Oliver's turn to think. After a few more seconds, he shook his head. "No, but it does make us even because I probably would have done the same thing you did."

I smiled a little. "I'm not sure how much logic is behind that, because you didn't do the same thing to me, but… Oliver, the truth is that I don't really care anymore. I regret everything that happened, and I wish that Percy and you were friends again, but… it doesn't matter. Unlike five years ago, I do have you and Percy as friends now."

Oliver smiled. "Are you happy now?" he asked, not in a sarcastic or angry way, but sincerely.

"What?" I asked.

"That day in the Forbidden Forest, you didn't think things had turned out well, but do you now?"

"I think they turned out how they turned out. Could everything have turned out better? Undoubtedly. But I am happy now."

"Good."

"Are you?" I asked.

He thought a few seconds before laughing. "I will be if Gryffindor wins the Quidditch Cup."

I smiled. "And if not?"

"If not? We're going to win," Oliver said.

I smiled a little more. "Of course you are, but humor me. If not?"

"If not? If we don't win the Quidditch Cup… I have to win that cup, Laura."

"Why?" I asked, calmly.

"Because Quidditch is who I am."

"We've had this conversation. You aren't Quidditch. You're much more than this sport, no matter how you feel about it."

"I see myself as Quidditch. It's all I've ever been good at. It's how people see me. If I lose that… if I lose the person I see as me…."

"You lose yourself?"

"I guess."

"You can still have Quidditch without winning the Cup."

"That Cup is all I've ever wanted." He paused. "Almost all I've ever wanted."

"What else do you want?"

He smiled. "Stupid things."

"What?"

"A crystal ball."

I laughed. "What on Earth for?"

"Just to have one. They're… you can see things in them."

"Only if there's something on the other side of the crystal ball, and you're seeing the reflections."

He laughed. "Maybe, but I'd still like to have one."

"What else do you want?"

"My own Quidditch pitch. A real one, I mean. Like this place. And I want a dog."

"A dog?" I asked.

"Yes. My parents never let me have one because I'm at school most of the year, but after we all graduate, I'm getting a dog."

"You want a dog, a crystal ball, a Quidditch stadium and the Quidditch Cup. Sounds fair enough."

"I think it's reasonable. Except for the Quidditch stadium, maybe. I want one more thing, though."

"Yes?" I asked.

"Dinner. It must be time for dinner by now."

"You're right!" I said. I was a little hungry, but I'd completely forgotten about the time. "Do we go back the say we came, or—"

"No. We can't get back through that wall in the locker room. Follow me," Oliver said, reaching out and taking my hand again, even though we had wandlight now.

He walked straight across the room and through a wall with me right behind him. We ended up outside of the Quidditch stadium.

"I'm assuming we can't get in that way because that would have been a lot easier," I said.

Oliver tapped the solid wall a couple of times to answer my question. He let go of my hand and we started towards Hogwarts. I figured we were going to be a little late for dinner, but there was no punishment for that.

"What do you want after we graduate?" Oliver asked, when we were about halfway to the castle.

"I just want to be happy. Whatever it takes to be happy, I guess I want."

Oliver didn't say anything.

"That and I want a Ken doll. I had way too many Barbies but no Kens. It was hard to play house with no Kens… I just need a Ken doll to sit in the basement with the Barbies."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Oliver said, laughing.

I spent the rest of the walk into the castle explaining about Muggle toys. He seemed more interested in dolls than I thought he would be.

When we got to the Great Hall, I went to sit with Percy, like I did every evening. He was almost done eating.

"Where were you?" he asked.

"Quidditch stadium," I answered, already starting to serve myself.

"With Wood?"

"Yes."

"The whole time?"

"Just about."

"Alone?" he asked.

"No, I said I was with—"

"Alone with Wood?"

"Yes."

"That's been hours," he said.

"So?"

"What will people think?" he scolded.

I rolled my eyes. "Percy, think of all of the hours I've been alone with you. What do people think about that?"

Percy blushed a little. "That's different," he said, weakly.

"Why?"

"Because everyone knows we're only friends," he said.

"And everyone knows Oliver and I are friends. As I recall, it was big news for about half of a day, which is much more than enough time for everyone in the building to hear about it."

"And for the second half of that day, people were wondering whether it was anything more. Undoubtedly being alone for hours would only support those rumors."

"What difference does it make, Percy? He's my friend, but I can't be around him because the school may think something is going on? Or I can't be around him because you think something is going on?"

"I didn't say either one of those things. I'm just letting you know how it looks."

"There's nothing going on," I said, sighing.

Percy didn't say anything for a few moments. He only stared at me before leaving.

_Author's Note_: That chapter was much shorter than the last one, but there was a lot of information disclosed in this chapter, so I wanted to keep it short. This is a chapter where I wanted to be more subtle than to just come out and say certain things. Like in the first chapter, I was vague on purpose, but please let me know if I was too vague.

Feedback on the Golden Snitch/ Ford Anglia/ Hogwarts theory (and anything else) is also more than welcome. I do think that this might be what is behind the Ford Anglia's "personality" (not necessarily Hogwarts or the Golden Snitches, though I think that there's a strong case for Hogwarts) in the real books. This would be important to the real books (not this story) because it implies that Hogwarts might be able to "feel" an alliance with one side if the Second War were to have a battle at Hogwarts. I think it's obvious that Hogwarts would "choose" Dumbledore's side.

And the always promised cliffhanger… coming up in Chapter 7: While Oliver is busy winning the Quidditch Cup (There's no cliffhanger there, obviously.), Laura is finally willing to be honest with herself.


	7. Quidditch Cup

**Chapter 7: Quidditch Cup **

The next few days were normal. I worried a little that what I had told Oliver would change how he treated me but it didn't. However, Percy and Oliver started bickering again, perhaps more than they did before Oliver said he would stop.

I just let them go at it. I knew that N.E.W.T.s were closer than I realized, and I was focusing on doing well on them, so I could get a good job. I wanted to work for The Daily Prophet and competition over positions there was fierce.

About five days after Oliver had shown me the Snitches, I was standing in that small hallway that doesn't go anywhere, near the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. I was looking out over the lake, barely even thinking.

"You're in my spot."

I turned to see Oliver smiling a few feet away.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'll leave."

"No. I was only kidding." He walked up next to me to look out over the lake as well. "It's a great view, isn't it?"

"Yes," I said, turning back towards the window. "I can't believe I never really took the time to look out of these windows in the past seven years."

Oliver didn't say anything.

I looked up at him. He looked calm as he looked out over Hogwarts' grounds.

"What?" he asked after a minute, not turning from the window.

"I don't know," I answered honestly.

He smiled a little.

"What?" I asked.

"I don't know either," he answer, laughing.

I looked out the window and smiled.

Oliver put his hand on the window sill next to mine.

I looked down and then up into his face again.

"What?" he asked, laughing again and moving his hand away.

I didn't answer. I just looked back out the window. After a few minutes, I asked, "Have we ever talked about anything… good?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we always either talk about that fight or something bad that happened after the fight. Have we ever talked about something good?"

"I don't know." He thought for a minute. "We've talked about being friends."

"And about how we never thought that would happened because of the fight," I said.

"Isn't it good that we can talk about bad things?"

"Yes," I answered. "But can we talk about good things? That's the true test of friendship, isn't it? Anyone can complain."

"We've talked about good things with the other Seventh Years."

"Yes."

"You're doubting our friendship, or—" Oliver started, looking a little hurt.

"No," I interrupted.

"Then what?"

"I just want to hear about good things in your life, too, is all."

He sighed.

"I'm getting too girly-emotional on you."

He laughed. "Maybe a little, but I'll let you know when it gets annoying."

"Then why did you sigh?"

"Because I'm not sure if I have many happy things to tell you about."

I furrowed my brow, frowning. "That's what I was afraid of."

After a few seconds, he started talking. "My parents. They're the constant happy thing in my life. Especially my dad. I love Mum and everything, but she's more protective. That's why I talk to my Dad. He'll listen and tell me what he honestly thinks. I'm happy when I'm talking to him."

I smiled and nodded. "And what did he honestly think about you becoming friends with me?"

"Doesn't that qualify as a topic under the fight?" Oliver asked, smiling tauntingly.

"Yes," I admitted. "OK. The constant happy thing in my life is… are my parents, too. I don't tell them everything, by any means, but I do like talking to them. They're very supportive, I guess. Most of the time."

There was a short silence.

"The Quidditch match is tomorrow," Oliver said.

"I know. I just didn't want to bring it up if you didn't want to talk about it," I admitted.

"I think we can win."

"I know you can."

I looked up at him and he looked down, smiling.

"You aren't just saying that," he said.

"Of course not. Your team can win. It's not like you have to worry about Malfoy catching the Snitch. Like you've been telling us for weeks, you only have to worry about Harry catching the Snitch too soon."

Oliver shook his head. "No. He won't. I've pounded that into his head, at least."

"You didn't threaten the poor kid, did you?"

"No, not that my threats should mean anything to him. I think he's still terrified that a dementor will come into the stadium, even though Professor Dumbledore gave me his word that that would not happen."

"Then you've nothing to worry about," I said.

"I've said that many times that I shouldn't have."

"But this time I'm saying it."

Oliver brought his hand up towards my face, but before reaching it, brought his hand down to my arm and brushed at the sleeve of my cloak a few times.

"You asked before if I would be happy if we lost the match tomorrow, and I've thought a lot about it," Oliver said.

"And will you be happy?" I asked.

"As long as I have my friends and family, I will be happy," he said.

I nodded. "I'm glad."

"Laura?"

"Yes?"

"Lately you've been a big part of that. I mean… you've become a good friend of mine, I think and…."

"And now that we are friends, we always will be," I said. I smiled. "I promise."

He smiled and then nodded. He looked out of the window a few seconds before taking a step away from the window. "I'm going to go back to the Common Room."

"OK," I said. "I'm going to stay here a while longer."

Oliver left me alone to think. And in the next half hour I knew what it was when I was looking at Oliver. I admitted to myself that I had, somehow, fallen for the person I'd hated only months before.

When I went back into the Common Room, everyone was trying to forget about the match the next day. I watched Fred and George goof around while Oliver sat alone, moving figures of Quidditch players around a model of the Quidditch stadium.

The next morning, I ate breakfast with Percy. We went out to the stadium together to get seats in the very front. They weren't the best seats in the stadium, but I wanted to be near the stairs.

The players eventually came out. I took out my omnioculars to look at the players faces. They all looked extremely nervous. I couldn't blame them. I was nervous, too. Oliver and Flint shook hands and the match began.

I must say that I was a good fan for the first time in years. I usually just watched and clapped a few times during a match. During this match, I was chewing my fingernails when Slytherin was taking a penalty shot and jumping up and down when Oliver stopped them. I was hugging everyone around when Gryffindor pulled far enough ahead in points that Harry could catch the Snitch. I was yelling obscenities at the top of my lungs whenever Slytherin cheated. And when Gryffindor won I cheered even louder than I had yelled.

I immediately started heading for the stairs to congratulate the players. The winning team's house always stormed the field after the match. I saw Oliver hugging Harry before heading into the stairway. By the time I reached the bottom, all of the players were in a group hug on the ground. I was one of the first people to reach the team. I knew I had to be if I was going to be able to congratulate Oliver, as the whole team was undoubtedly going to be swarmed by people for hours.

The group hug was breaking up to welcome friends and classmates into the circle. Oliver turned away from them, and I could see him crying out of pure joy. I laughed before coming into his already open arms.

I squeezed him tightly.

"You won! Oliver, you won the Cup!" I yelled into his ear, starting to get teary-eyed myself.

Oliver lifted me off the ground and spun around in a circle quickly. "Thanks in part to you! Thank you," he said, setting me down again.

I barely had time to look into his eyes before he was swept up into a crowd of well-wishers. Oliver looked back once before being lifted up on people's shoulders. I joined the crowd as Gryffindor carried its team to Dumbledore, who gave Wood the Cup. Oliver quickly passed it over to Harry.

By now, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were on the field as well, celebrating the downfall of Slytherin. A Second or Third Year from one of the houses came up and hugged me. Normally I'd have been freaked out, but strangers were hugging all over the field, so I hugged her back, laughing.

"Tell Oliver Wood congratulations," she said, letting go of me.

"OK, I will," I said, nodding.

"And tell him, if it doesn't work out with you, I'm available," she said, laughing.

"What?" I asked.

"I saw you congratulate him. It's obvious," she said, moving to a different part of the mob.

So, I spent the slow trip back up to Gryffindor's common room worrying about how many people had figured out that I didn't only like Oliver as a friend. I worried whether someone had told him. I worried whether it had just become obvious and that some other girl would go after him before I had a chance to tell him… tell him? Was I kidding? Tell him that I thought I was falling in love with him? And scare him away? No, tell him that I wanted to try to be more than friends because I liked him. But if it was obvious, maybe he already knew. Maybe he was purposely ignoring any signs I was giving him, whatever those signs were.

Maybes such as these continued to float through my head for about an hour, when I realized that I was repeating most of them, and it was pointless consciously brewing over them. So I thoroughly joined Gryffindor's festivities. Fred and George had gotten snacks out of the kitchen, and people were lighting off gold and red fireworks, which lingered for a long time in the air.

Oliver was the center of the party and was enjoying it. I didn't like being near the center of things, as that's usually where things go wrong, so I stayed back with Joan, who was like me in that sense.

"I'm so proud of him," she said.

"Yes," I agreed, smiling and looking over towards where I knew he was.

"He needed that win."

"Yes."

"So, what does he need now?" Joan asked.

I looked over at her, confused. "What?"

"Surely he can't only have needed that win. What does he need now?"

I shrugged and smiled as much as I could. "I don't know. A crystal ball?"

She laughed. "Isn't it the best friend's job to know what he needs?"

"I'm not his best—"

"Who's your best friend?" Joan interrupted. "Follow me," she added.

We went over to a window and sat down on the sill, facing the party.

"So, who's your best friend?" she repeated.

"Perc…y," I said. I scrunched up my brow, thinking about the answer that had come to my lips automatically for years. Was it still true? "I don't know."

"If it isn't Percy, then who is it?"

"Oliver," I said, slowly. "Is that bad?"

"What?" Joan asked, her turn to be surprised by a question.

"I mean, does it say something bad about me that someone who I didn't like is now my best friend? Does that say something about how few friends I have?"

Joan thought a few seconds. "No, it doesn't. You have enough friends, Laura, for it not to be bad. One friend is enough for it not to be bad. I think it's good. I've enjoyed watching the two of you get used to being friends. It was… exciting, I think."

I laughed. "Exciting? It was rather uneventful."

"As far as exciting events happening, it was uneventful, yes. But it was exciting to see you two make up and forget about the past. I wanted that to happen for a long time."

"Why?" I asked, honestly more curious than I'd been in a while.

"Because he always needed you. Or Percy."

I looked away. "Don't make me feel guilty again, please. Every time… it seems like the fight and the years after it are all we ever talk about when we're talking about the two of us."

"What else would you talk about while talking about the two of you? Like it or not, it happened, and like it or not, neither one of you will ever be able to forget about it. Maybe talking about it makes it less important."

"How so?"

"You talk about everything in the past tense?"

"Yes."

"Well, then you're both acknowledging that it's done. I guess you could say… you're moving on."

I looked at her a little skeptically.

She ignored the look. "Do you know what he needs?" Joan asked again.

I shook my head again. "No, I don't. I know… now… he has everything that he needs."

Joan smiled. "I think he does, too. Almost."

"What else does he need, then? It's the best friend's job to know."

"Are you taking on that responsibility?" Joan asked.

"Taking on that responsibility? I'm hoping I've earned it and that he's given it to me."

Joan smiled broadly. "That was very deep, Laura. Pretty, I think."

I laughed. "Then I take it back."

"Can I be honest?" Joan asked.

"Sure."

"You don't want to be his best friend, do you?"

My smile faltered a little. "That's a question, not being honest."

"But I already know the answer."

"It is obvious," I said, frowning now.

"Obvious?"

"A twelve-year-old girl I don't even know told me it was obvious," I said. "How embarrassing."

"I don't see how it could be obvious that you like him. When did you figure it out?"

"I don't know. I don't want to talk about this."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know."

"OK. Just let me saw a few things, OK?"

"If I said no, it wouldn't stop you," I said.

Joan laughed. "No, it wouldn't."

"Get it over with, then."

"First off, I want you to tell him how you feel because I think it will turn out in a way good for you both, and I like watching your story."

I didn't say anything in her pause.

"Secondly—"

"Hey, girls, you're missing out on the fun."

Joan and I spun in towards the room quickly.

"Hello, Oliver," Joan said, obviously trying to be nonchalant.

Oliver nodded a little, looking slightly worried. "You two aren't conspiring against me or anything, are you?"

I smiled. "We were only talking."

"Hey, Oliver, good job!" Joan said.

"Thanks," Oliver said, beaming with pride.

"We're proud of you," she added.

I nodded my agreement.

Oliver laughed. "Well, I can be happy now, Laura."

"I'm glad."

A sixth year girl came up behind Oliver and hooked her arm in his, taking his hand. "Oliver. I lost you for a moment."

I recognized her. Her name was Ashley Putnum. She was popular and pretty. My smile dissolved quickly.

"Just talking to my friends," Oliver said, smiling down at her.

"Oh," Ashley said, with a little distaste. "Let's go back to the party."

"Yeah," Oliver said. He looked at Joan and me and smiled slightly. "I'll talk to you later, OK, girls?"

Joan and I nodded and Ashley pulled Oliver away.

"I guess he still only needs me as a friend, huh?" I asked, quietly.

Joan didn't answer immediately. "He'll always need us as his friends," she said, finally.

"And we'll always be his friends," I said.

"At least that, yes. Don't worry about her, Laura. I know him. She's not his type."

"Isn't she? The Quidditch captain and the popular Sixth Year?"

"Why not the two best friends?"

"Joan, you don't have to try to make me feel better. I have no claim on him. And I've been the friend to boys for years. I got used to that right away. I chose it."

Joan sighed. "How do you know what Oliver wants?"

I motioned towards the group of celebrators. "I found it fairly obvious."

"I didn't. I see how he looks at you."

I shook my head. "I care enough about him to be his friend, no matter what."

"And that's why he'll pick you."

"Pick me? I don't need him to pick me."

"Just wait. I've never been wrong about Oliver. Just wait." Joan got up and walked into the crowd.

I didn't feel much like celebrating. I went upstairs to try to escape the noise. Luckily, I was tired enough that I didn't need to pout over Oliver. I feel asleep fairly easily.

_Author's Note_: Short chapter. My apologizes. It was a natural chapter break.

Thank you to all of the people who have been reading this sorry, and especially to those of you who have reviewed. For those of you who have written your own stories, you know how encouraging good feedback (or feedback at all) can be. :)

Coming up in the next chapter: Oliver and Percy finally start to take steps to end the five-year long fight. But how long will their efforts really last? And how will Laura deal with keeping her feelings to herself?


	8. Gryffindors

**Chapter 8: Gryffindors**

The next morning I felt a little better. I'd gotten a lot more sleep than some people, and at least a little more sleep than most people. Also, Gryffindor had calmed down considerably. Everyone was still happy, but at least I was now able to fake that I was as happy as they were.

I had slept in longer than normal, but it was a Sunday, so it didn't really matter. I got up, took a shower and got dressed before walking down to the Great Hall. Percy was in our normal place, so I joined him.

"Morning," he said, looking up and smiling a little.

"Morning," I said.

"You don't look so good," Percy said.

I shrugged a little. "I feel fine."

"Something wrong?"

"No," I lied. I smiled. "It's just that the last big game is over. We're almost out of Hogwarts." I decided not to feel bad about making up things because telling Percy what was really bothering me probably would have given him a stroke.

"Yeah, we're really growing up," Percy said. "But there's a lot to look forward to. Like work."

I laughed. "Percy, only you would look forward to work."

Percy smiled. He was used to my banter on his work ethics.

"There are other things to look forward to. Like having a family, I guess," Percy tried.

"That makes work sound appealing," I muttered.

Percy laughed. "I agree. Oh, God."

"What?" I asked, turning around to see what he was looking at.

Oliver had walked up behind me. "Hey, I didn't see you again last night," he said, ignoring Percy.

"I went upstairs. I was tired," I said emotionlessly.

Oliver nodded. "Are you OK?"

"That's what I asked her," Percy said.

"I told you that I'm only a little sad about graduation."

Oliver nodded again. "OK. You're sure?"

"I think I would know," I muttered.

"I know you would know. I know you may not tell me the truth, as well," Oliver said, smiling. "Can I talk to you later?"

I shrugged and nodded. "Yeah."

"OK. See you later, then. Later, Percy," Oliver said, nodding at him.

Percy nodded back. "Congratulations on the win, by the way," he said quickly.

Oliver turned back towards us. "Thanks," he said, a little defensively.

"It wasn't very manly to bawl like a baby, though, was it?" Percy asked, smirking a little.

"I saw you jumping up and down like a little school girl," Oliver said, smiling back.

Percy fought back a real smile.

"Thank Charlie for fixing my broom," Oliver said.

Percy nodded.

I was completely in shock. Percy and Oliver being civil? To each other? I was dreaming. I was surely dreaming.

"Right… well… see you," Oliver said, starting to walk away.

"When you're so close to making up?" I blurted out. "I mean… a couple of apologizes and—"

"Don't push it," Percy interrupted.

Oliver continued to walk away.

I sighed. "I guess I should take what I can get from the two of you."

"I guess."

"Even though you would both be happier if you forgave each other… not liked each other again, necessarily, but forgave each other. I want you both to… be happy."

I stood up.

"What?" Percy asked.

I shook my head. "I just realized something. It's nothing."

"You realized you want us both to be happy?"

"Kind of. I'm not really hungry, and I have a lot of studying to do for that Transfiguration test tomorrow. I'll see you later, OK, Perce?"

"Yeah," Percy said, shaking his head a little. "Later."

I went upstairs and I did study. A few hours later, I ate lunch with Oliver and Company.

"So, where's Ashley?" Adam asked when we were almost down eating.

Oliver shrugged. "With her friends, I'm assuming."

"And you aren't with her?" Adam asked.

"Obviously not, as I'm sitting here with you."

"What was up with Ashley and you, anyway?" Joan asked, looking at me.

"Nothing," Oliver said, shrugging a little. "We were just hanging out last night."

"That's it?" Joan asked, smiling.

Oliver laughed. "Yeah, that's it. She wanted to be seen with the captain of the winning team, and it's not as if there was any reason to decline to just play along. Why?"

"Just wondering," Joan said.

I was in a much better mood after that conversation, although I felt stupid for worrying about it. But I did learn one thing from the little ordeal. There were only a few months left before school was over, and other people were interested in Oliver. I needed to let him know how I felt. Not that I was looking forward to doing so.

That afternoon all of the Seventh Years were sitting around the common room, studying for this, that and the other. And for N.E.W.T.s. I was tired of studying, or pretending to study at any rate. I got up and walked over to Oliver.

"You said you wanted to talk?" I asked.

Oliver looked up from his Transfiguration book. "What?"

I smiled. "You said you wanted to talk?" I repeated.

Oliver nodded, and then looked down at his book again. "Yeah, but I don't really remember about what right now."

"Oh, OK," I said, turning to go.

"Although, whatever it is, it's preventing me from really studying," Oliver said.

I turned back to him.

"Maybe it will come to me. Want to go for a walk?"

I nodded.

Oliver and I walked out of the common room and started walking towards the Great Hall.

"I know I've told you this, but I'm really happy for your win," I said.

"I know you are. That's what I wanted to talk to you about," he said.

"You remembered quickly, then," I said, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

He wasn't looking. "Yeah. I wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"Just for being supportive, even before we were friends. But especially recently. If I had anything at all to do with our win, which I believe I did, then you… had something to do with our win, too."

"If I had something to do with your win, then you're welcome," I said, smiling. "Indirectly, it's Quidditch that I wanted to talk to you about."

"You want to talk about Quidditch?" Oliver asked.

"I said 'indirectly'. I don't know enough about Quidditch to talk with you about it."

"All right. What do you want to talk about?" Oliver asked, opening the big oak doors and letting me step through before following.

"Me," I said. "And you," I added quickly.

Oliver laughed. We walked down the stairs and were heading towards the lake before he responded. "You and me… us?"

"You and me… us… whatever," I said quickly, blushing.

"Are you breaking up with me?" Oliver asked, laughing.

I smiled. "Maybe tomorrow."

"I'm sorry. Go ahead."

"I know what I need to be happy now. I just figured it out this morning. I mean, I think I've known for a while, but I understood this morning."

"What happened this morning?" Oliver asked.

"You talked to Percy. Without fighting."

Oliver sighed. "Laura, if you need Percy and I to make up for you to be happy, then—"

"No, that's not it," I said.

Oliver sighed again, more out of relief this time. "Thank God, because I was going to say, if that's what you need to be happy, then… I would apologize to him."

I stared at him.

"But it's not, so I don't have to," Oliver said as fast as he could.

"No, you don't have to," I agreed. "Even though I think it would make all of us happier, you don't have to apologize to Percy."

"Please don't try the guilt thing."

"I wasn't."

"You were."

"Was it working?"

"A little."

I laughed. "I'm sorry."

We had reached the lake. Oliver sat down on a big flat rock that was a few feet away from the lake. I recognized it as the same rock that I had climbed onto after Oliver had pushed me into the lake a few months before. I sat down next to him and we looked out over the lake.

"What do you need to be happy?" Oliver asked.

"I need you and Percy to be happy," I said, softly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Oliver turn his head to look at me.

"That's why what I wanted to talk to you about was indirectly linked to Quidditch. If winning the Quidditch Cup was what you needed to be happy, then I needed you to win that Cup for me to be happy."

"Why?"

"I… care about both of you, first of all. You're my two best friends, Oliver," I said, looking at him. He was facing the lake again.

"And… if you're both happy… then I didn't do anything to make it so you couldn't be happy. Do you understand? If you're both happy, then it's OK for me to be happy."

Oliver looked at me again. "It has always been OK for you to be happy, and it will never be your fault if one of us isn't. You've been a good friend to both of us. Laura… never let what happened between the three of us years ago stop you from being happy. It wasn't worth anything and certainly not your unhappiness."

I nodded. That was all I could trust myself to do without crying.

"You're sure you don't need me to apologize to Percy?"

"If there's anything I've ever needed you to do, you just did it," I said, confident that I could hold back the tears entering my eyes.

He smiled. "And you can concentrate on what you're studying now?"

I smiled back. "Who said I was having trouble studying?"

"It's hard to study when you keep looking up from your notes at me."

I stopped smiling.

Oliver slid off of the rock and looked out over the water for a few seconds before turning back towards me. He held out his hand.

I took it and slid down the rock to stand in front of him.

We stood there, hand in hand, looking at each other for a few seconds before he smiled, slowly.

"You said we were Gryffindors because we can face life bravely?"

"Yes."

Oliver laughed a little to himself. "That's a hard thing to do," he said, again about half to himself.

"Do you remember when we were working on a Transfiguration project and you made the first attempt to be my friend and I shot you down…. You said you were what life was facing me against?" he asked.

"Yes?" I asked, getting a little nervous.

"That wasn't easy for you, was it?" he asked.

"What wasn't?"

"Asking me to forgive you and to be your friend."

I could feel myself blushing. "No… it wasn't easy."

"But you did it anyway."

"Yes."

"How?" he asked.

I smiled a little. "I didn't mean to…. Not really. I just… told myself that's what I needed to do and did it before I could stop myself."

"And if it would have backfired?"

"It did backfire," I said, smiling a little more.

"Not in the long run."

"In the long run? In the long run my pride is still hurting… and in the long run it was worth it."

He smiled.

"Why? Oliver, you're starting to scare me a bit. Are you breaking up with ME?" I asked, trying to smile.

"Maybe tomorrow," he said, leaning down slightly and squeezing my hand that he was still holding.

I saw everything in slow motion. I could see him step closer and could see him put his other hand lightly on my waist. I could see him bend down to where our faces were at the same level. I saw his eyes close and closed my own.

The kiss ended more quickly than it began, but time was going at its regular speed again. I opened my eyes. Oliver had taken his hand off of my waist, but his other hand was still grasping mine.

And there was another awkward stare-off, but this time I could only stand it for a few seconds.

"Something's wrong," I said.

"I'm waiting for that to backfire."

I smiled. "What?"

"I'm waiting for you to shoot me down. I mean… that'd be fair."

"Oliver, wouldn't I have taken my hand back by now if I was going to shoot you down?"

Oliver dropped my hand, starting to blush.

"Right… sorry."

I laughed. "I don't think you understood me," I said, blushing a little as well.

Oliver raised one of his eyebrows.

I sighed. "I… I mean… well…." I smiled and looked down at the ground. I couldn't tell him I loved him because I was still afraid that that would scare him (and me). And I couldn't tell him I liked him liked him because that would sound stupid. Instead, I reached out and took his hand in mine.

He smiled, bent down and kissed me again. This time he didn't pull away to get my reaction. His hand ended up resting barely on my waist again, and my hand ended up on his upper arm.

Oliver started laughing and I pulled back, frowning.

"You're about to hurt my feelings," I said seriously.

He shook his head. "It's just our position. Looks like we're dancing."

I smiled and took my hand off of his arm. I just looked at him for a minute.

"Yes?" he asked, eventually.

"What time is it?" I asked casually.

Oliver laughed. "You're going to hurt my feelings, next."

"No. Percy's," I said, forcing a laugh.

Oliver raised his eyebrows. "He… likes you?"

"Is it that hard?"

"That isn't what I meant."

"I was kidding. No, Percy acts too much like he's my brother for him to like me. But he practically hates you."

"Thanks for buttering that up for me."

"I don't butter things up well."

"Maybe Percy already knows…."

I groaned. "I hope not."

Oliver laughed. "You don't have to tell him."

I shook my head. "Not telling Percy things like this doesn't end well. Everyone else can just figure it out for themselves, but… I've got to tell Percy… how I feel about you."

Oliver smiled. "Before you tell me how you feel about me?" he asked, turning red.

I smiled back. "Yes."

Oliver laughed. "You're going to tell Percy how you feel about me before telling me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It's easier," I admitted, turning to go back to the castle.

"What happened to facing life bravely?" Oliver asked, following, still holding my hand.

"One step at a time. Anyway… maybe I don't know exactly… how I feel."

"Then how are you going to tell Percy?"

I shrugged and shook my head. "I have no idea."

"Laura?"

"Yeah?" I asked, starting towards the castle again.

"What if Percy doesn't approve?"

I snorted. "If? Oliver, let's get real. When Percy doesn't approve."

"Right. But… if he gives you an ultimatum. You know… if he makes you choose between him and me. That kind of thing."

I sighed. "I don't think he will. But if he does, then it will be a friendship with Percy that I'll have to worry about."

"Meaning…."

"Meaning that I won't choose him over you, but I won't choose you over him, either, unless he makes me."

Oliver nodded. "OK. I just… needed to know that."

"I know."

After a few minutes, we were at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the front door but Oliver held me back. I turned to face him.

"There's one more thing I need to know," Oliver said.

"OK."

"When will it be more about us than about us and Percy?"

I smiled a little. "Oliver…." I said, slowly.

"No. I'm serious. I don't know a nice way to ask this."

"That's OK."

"Can there be an us without Percy?"

"I have to tell him, Oliver. I don't know why I can't just let him figure it out but I need to tell him."

"I understand. That's not what I mean."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… can you think about me without thinking about Percy?"

I laughed. "Thank God, yes, I can."

"You can think about me without thinking that it's a miracle we're even friends? Without thinking about the five years we hated each other?"

I didn't answer.

"That's what I mean when I asked if it would ever not be about Percy."

"Oliver, our past is our fight. Our past is getting over that fight. Has it ever not been about Percy?"

"Exactly," Oliver said. "And can that ever change?"

"I don't know," I answered honestly. I looked down. "But I want it to."

Oliver let go of my hand and moved his own hand up to my chin, lifting my head up so that I was looking at him.

"That's all I wanted to know."

He bend down to kiss me again.

"Well… that's no' exactly wha' I was expectin' to see on the way to me 'ut."

Oliver and I spun towards the castle to see Hagrid walking down the stairs. He was smiling broadly, looking from me, to Oliver, and back to me again.

"It's been a while since I las' talked to the two o' you. I see why."

"What?" I asked. "Oh! No… I mean—"

"We just—" Oliver started.

"Right," I agreed.

Hagrid laughed, taking one last step to take him down the last three stairs onto the ground.

"Yer not in trouble."

Oliver and I didn't say anything. We just stood there, feeling uncomfortable.

"I always knew you two would end up tergether."

"You did not," I said, smiling.

"I did. Jus' like I know that Ron and 'ermione will end up tergether… when they're old enough to realize that's what they want."

"Ron Weasley?" I asked. I had never really thought about it before. I had never really talked to Ron. We rarely even acknowledged that we knew each other.

"O' course," Hagrid said. "I knew it the momen' the two of 'em became friends, in their firs' year. Jus' like I knew it the momen' the two of you became friends."

"And during the past five years?" Oliver asked, smiling.

"Don' you see that fight what ya needed to realize how ya felt about each other? Ya needed to work on yer friendship before ya could ever be more than friends. And ya needed a fight for yer friendship to really begin. Granted… I didn't think it would take you five years…."

"Funny… I thought it would take five hundred," Oliver said. He laughed.

"It don' matter now. Yer tergether."

I smiled and looked up at Oliver.

"Well… the two o' you are missin' dinner. Better go on inside."

"OK," I said.

We said goodbye to Hagrid and then made our way into the Great Hall together. We acted normally. We didn't need the school to know anything right away.

"I'm going to sit by… where's Percy?"

Oliver shrugged.

"Well… I guess I'm going to sit by you then."

We ate dinner like normal. I couldn't help but think about what I would say to Percy. All I knew was that once Percy knew, I could try to start the next part of my life.

_Author's Note_: That's my second favorite part of the story, for obvious reasons. (My favorite is the part with the Golden Snitches.) And I'm sorry… the story doesn't just end with a kiss. There are still conflicts that need to be attended to!

Do you think this story is worthy of being read by other people? (I hope so if you've read this far….) Then review! If the summary of the story does not lure people in (shocking!), then the number of reviews might. And think you could write a tantalizing summary of this story? Give it a shot. I'll give you credit for it. Just don't give too much away. I can't write a summary short enough to show up in the two lines that provides.

Coming up in the next chapter: Laura has to tell Percy how she feels about Oliver. Emotions run high.


	9. Beginning Again

**Chapter 9: Beginning Again **

I went up to the common room before the rest of the Seventh Years to look for Percy, but he wasn't there. At around ten o'clock, Oliver came over and sat down next to me. I looked up from my Charms book and smiled.

"I think I'm going to go up to bed," he said.

"OK," I said.

He smiled. "That's it? OK? Not even good night?"

I laughed. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little nervous about telling Percy."

He put his hand on mine. "It'll be fine. Look at it this way. He would never curse you, no matter how upset he gets. If I were to tell him, I'd end up in the Hospital Wing."

"I don't think you just made me feel better," I said.

"I know. I was trying to make you laugh and failed miserably, obviously."

I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for trying. Good night, Oliver."

He stood up and pushed in his chair. "Good night, Laura," he said before walking upstairs.

I did homework until, finally, at around 10:30, Percy walked into the common room. Most people had gone to bed early that night, which, considering the previous late night, made sense.

I stood up, and Percy looked over and smiled. He walked over.

"I need to talk to you," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

I must have failed because the way Percy said 'Oh' sounded a little apprehensive.

"You've heard?" he asked, looking happy again immediately. Percy didn't look truly happy often.

"Heard?"

"Penelope and I are back together again!" Percy said. He was grinning from ear to ear.

"That's… that's great, Percy," I said, trying to sound glad. I was glad. I was also dreading his reaction to my news.

Percy noticed my lack of excitement and smiled kindly. "Don't worry, Laura. I won't abandon you. We'll still be friends."

I nodded. "Of course."

"Well… we'd better be off to bed then—"

"No, wait. I still need to talk to you."

Hell. I might as well tell him this when he was happy. Maybe he'd forget to be upset.

"OK," Percy said, the apprehension back in his voice. He smiled. "Do I need to sit down?"

I smiled back. There were some times when Percy made me feel better without meaning to. "Um… no… it won't take long."

"OK," Percy said, taking a seat at the table I was working at anyway. "Is something wrong?"

"No. I just… think I should tell you something is all," I said, again failing to be casual.

"Something is wrong," Percy said, frowning now.

"No. Nothing's wrong. You…. I…. OK…."

"What?" Percy asked impatiently.

"There's no way to say it other than to just say it, I guess. I…. Oliver…." I laughed at myself. "This is stupid. I can tell you." I looked at Percy, who seemed to be getting the gist of what I was trying to tell him anyway. "We're together. Now. Dating. Kind of dating. More together than dating. Oliver and I."

I watched as this started to make sense to Percy. At first I thought he was going to take it very well, and I started to feel stupid for thinking he wouldn't. Why would Percy care if I had fallen for a guy he couldn't stand?

And immediately after comprehension kicked in, Percy's emotions kicked in, too.

"WHAT?" Percy asked.

Damn. So much for Percy taking it very well.

"I've spent a lot of time with him. Talking to him. Getting to know him. He's my friend. He's one of my best friends. And he's a good person. You know he is. You wouldn't have ever been friends with him if he wasn't."

"He's made your life miserable," Percy said.

I shook my head. "No. We've made our lives miserable. We're as responsible as he is. Maybe more."

"He's… he's… Oliver Wood! WOOD! By God!"

"By God what?" I asked, getting angry.

"What about Dan?" Percy asked, turning red.

"Dan's dead!" I said.

And then what he said hit me. And what I said hit me.

"You knew?" I asked quietly. "You KNEW?"

"Of course I knew! You thought I didn't? Dan was my best friend. He told me… told me that he loved you. That he didn't care that you were a few years younger, but that he knew Mum would because she cares so much about you, too."

I was in shock. I felt that pressure in my eyes that means I'm about to cry, but I was too angry for actual tears to come out.

"You KNEW and you never TOLD me that you knew? Don't you understand how much that's hurt me? That I lost him too and that I couldn't tell you because I didn't want to hurt you any more than you were hurting already? That I loved him and I wanted your family to know that, so you could all know that SOMEONE loved him before he died, but I couldn't because the subject seemed to be forbidden?"

Percy was furious. And sad. "What was I supposed to say, Laura? I know that my brother was your boyfriend, and I'm sorry that he died? I didn't know HOW to help you, and I was in no state to help you anyway!

"And Mum and Dad knew, too. Mum figured it out. I heard her telling Dad a few days before Dan… died. She said that she could tell by the way he looked at you during meals. Dad wasn't sure, but I think he trusted Mum's judgment."

"You could have brought it up slowly. You could have just TOLD me you knew!" I said, but I was losing my anger.

Percy shook his head and brushed the back of his hand across his right cheek quickly. "I don't want to talk about him. I don't want to remember what happened."

"I don't want to remember what happened, either, Perce, but it did happen, and I know that I will NEVER forget. Percy…. If you think I could ever forget Dan… I promise you that I won't."

Percy didn't say anything. He looked down at the table.

"But I can't spend my whole life remembering. I've got to live for the future and try to stop living in the past. Like you've succeeded in doing."

Percy looked at me but still didn't say anything.

"Percy, I wanted to tell you about Oliver and me so that we could talk about it if you wanted to."

"You loved my brother?" Percy asked.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Because he was an unbelievably good person and because he didn't seem to know that. And because of how much he cared about me."

"And you love Wood?" Percy asked.

I sighed.

"Do you?" Percy asked a little harshly.

"Yes," I said. "I do."

Percy looked surprised. "Why?" he asked with even more curiosity.

I shrugged, smiling. "I don't know. I haven't had as much time to figure out why. I just do."

Percy didn't say anything. He just started staring off into space. After a few minutes, I stood up.

"I really am happy that you and Penelope are back together again, and I'm sorry if I ruined your good mood."

"Are you?" Percy asked coldly, still not focusing on anything with his eyes.

"Yes, I really am." I paused. "Good night, Percy."

"Out of all of the boys here—"

"I love Oliver. Just like out of all of the girls here you love Penelope. What's the difference?"

"You're comparing Penelope with Oliver Wood?" Percy asked, focusing on me again.

I frowned even more than I was before. "Of course not. Why would I insult Oliver like that?" I asked.

Percy stood up, too, and I remembered how tall he was. He could be a little intimidating when he wanted to be. He hadn't intimidated me in years, and I was too angry to start again now.

"I don't care what you do. If you want to be with Oliver, fine. Just don't come crying to me when he breaks your heart."

"He's no better than you at that, Weasley. Good night," I said as coldly as I could before storming upstairs.

I was furious. But I was also sad and happy at the same time. I was so overwhelmed that I wasn't even thinking about being quiet when I entered our dormitory.

Not that it mattered. The other girls seemed to be waiting for me. They were all sitting together on Joan's bed and stood up when I entered.

My emotions were blocked as I stared back at the other girls for several seconds. By the time someone spoke, all I was feeling was confused.

"We've got to be right," Rose said, turning away from me and facing the other girls.

"About what?" I asked in spite of myself.

"I don't think so," Cedar answered Rose, ignoring me.

"I do," Joan said. "We're right, aren't we?" she asked me.

"Er…."

"I knew it!" Rose said in triumph.

"Knew what?" I asked, in no mood to be kept in the dark.

"They think that you and Oliver… are a couple or something," Cedar said.

My mouth hung open a little. "Er…."

"Told you," Cedar said.

"How'd you know?" I asked.

"Ha!" Rose and Joan said at the same time while Tara laughed.

"WHAT?" Cedar asked.

After a few minutes of multiple conversations occurring and more confusion, I could finally hear all of what Joan had to say.

"Well, it was obvious. Percy was looking for you, but he was the last of us to see you. You walked into the Great Hall with Oliver. He was happy during dinner while you seemed preoccupied. Then you stayed in the common room tonight. None of us had seen Percy come back yet. We put two and two together," she said.

I was still surprised. "That's like putting two hundred and two together," I said.

"Which is still not that difficult."

"Plus… we heard some yelling just now," Rose said.

I didn't respond.

"How did Percy react?" Tara asked.

I raised my eyebrows and shrugged. "He took it better than I thought he would for longer than I thought he would."

"That bad, huh?" Cedar asked.

I walked over and sat on my own bed.

"Are you OK?" Joan asked.

"I'm OK."

She looked skeptical. "Are you?"

"No. And yes."

"I understand," she said.

"I don't," Cedar said.

"Your friends don't hate your boyfriend," Joan said.

"We've never hated your boyfriends," Rose said.

"No, but Oliver has," Joan answered.

I laughed a little. "Ironic."

"Who'd he hate?" Rose asked.

"Doug Livet."

"The Ravenclaw Keeper," I said, nodding a little. "He was good. Graduated last year. I didn't know the two of you dated."

"I never knew Oliver hated him," Rose said.

"Doug and I only dated a few times. Oliver didn't try to hide it from me what he thought of Doug, though. It was… nice in some way, I guess… that he cared. Mostly, it was annoying."

"What'd he have against Doug?" Tara asked.

"That he was a good Quidditch player, probably," Cedar said.

"No, actually. I accused him of that, too. Doug just isn't a very nice person, something I learned quickly. Oliver learned that through Quidditch."

"Did he say Doug would only break your heart?" I asked.

"How'd you know that?" she asked.

"Percy and Oliver influenced each other more than either of them know, or would ever admit," I said.

"Oliver got over it before I even broke up with Doug. I'm sure Percy will—"

"No, he won't. If he can ever ignore it, I would probably die of shock," I said. I looked up. "God, what kind of person chooses a boy over their friend?"

"What kind of friend forces that decision?" Tara asked quietly.

I looked over at her. "I think I may have done that, too."

Joan came over and sat down next to me. "You aren't choosing a boy over a friend when it comes to Percy. You went to him right away so he wouldn't hear it from someone else, probably because you thought you could make him OK with you dating Oliver."

"No," I said. "I knew he wouldn't be OK with it. I just… didn't want to keep this from him like I was going to keep how I felt about his brother from him."

None of them said anything.

"I'm tired and confused, and I'm going to go to bed," I said, standing up to get ready.

The other girls were more than ready to do the same. After all, they'd stayed up much later than I had the night before, celebrating Gryffindor's victory.

I had a few problems falling asleep. I really had thought that telling Percy the truth about how I felt about Oliver would make it so I could break away from everything that had happened in the past and start over. My conversation with Percy made me doubt that hope. I was in love with Oliver Wood. But Dan was still dead, and Percy and Wood still hated each other. I couldn't erase the past with a kiss and a confession.

The past would always be there, but I didn't have to let the past keep defining the present.

I couldn't take away my past, but I could give myself a future, I decided before drifting off.

_Author's Note_: I'm sorry that was a short chapter. Probably the shortest chapter yet. And I'm afraid I have horrible news… this is page 162 out of the 164 pages that I had already written before beginning to post this story.

I know, for the most part, what's going to happen in the rest of this story. (It's all mapped out on the bottom of the Word document that I write this story in.) Now, it's just a matter of writing down what happens. Chapters will probably start coming out more slowly, especially for the next few weeks. I am hoping to get at least one more chapter up before school ends, but it will depend on how school is going. Finals are coming up sooner than I'd like.

I knew that I might run into this problem, and to try to prevent this, I was going to post chapters less frequently than I did. However, I couldn't resist posting the chapters and receiving your feedback. Thank you for all of your support and please stay tuned. I REALLY want to finish this story, and your encouragement will help me greatly. Thank you all so much.

_-ByMerlinsBeard_

In the next chapter: Laura and Oliver adapt to their new relationship.


	10. Awkwardness and Anger

_Author's Note_: I was faced with a very interesting dilemma while writing this chapter: how in the hell would Laura and Oliver act around each other after telling each other how they felt. I was stuck at this point in the story for a LONG time. And then I realized that my uncertainty might help me write THEIR uncertainty about the same thing. Yes, this chapter gets "cute"… perhaps too cute, but I've made sure to give Laura and Oliver plenty of hell over it. ;) I hope you all enjoy reading it. Sorry for the delay in posting. You're all awesome for waiting! Please review. Support can only help me write the next chapters. (Didn't think I could write an author's note without a plea for reviews, did you?)

**Chapter 10: Awkwardness and Anger**

The next morning I woke up early, as usual, to get ready for the day before the bathroom got too busy. I walked down to the common room to sit in front of the fire, gather my thoughts, and wait for someone to walk down to breakfast with. When I got down there, I found someone else sleeping in my place.

"Oliver?" I asked quietly, bending down and shaking him a little.

He woke up and sat up quickly. "Oh, it's just you."

"Yeah, just me," I said. "Who were you expecting?"

Oliver motioned for me to sit down next to him. I did, keeping a little more space between us than a part of me wanted, but I felt just a little awkward around him.

"I was expecting Percy. Percy with a long, sharp knife."

I laughed. "Are you that sure he took what I said that badly?"

"Yes," he said. "He raised hell when he came upstairs last night, after you talked to him. He woke up all of the Seventh Years by yelling at me. I think the Sixth Years might have heard him, too."

"He yelled at you in the middle of the night?" I asked.

Oliver yawned. "Said I should have left you alone and that the two of you have gone through enough in the past five years and that you didn't need me making things worse."

"You've made things better."

Oliver smiled and put a hand on my knee. "That's what I said. That's also why I slept on the couch down here last night."

I laughed again, though I tried not to.

"It isn't that funny. This sofa wasn't made to sleep on," Oliver said, rubbing his neck.

"I'm sorry," I said, still smiling. "I don't see why you had to sleep downstairs, though. You two have never fought before?"

"Never in the middle of the night the day after the other Seventh Years stayed up partying. The rest of the boys said that if one of us didn't go downstairs, both of us were banned from the room for as long as we weren't getting along. I decided that one night on the couch beat spending the rest of the year down here with Percy."

I nodded. "I didn't think he would say anything to you last night. I thought it could at least wait until morning."

Oliver yawned again, taking his hand off of my knee to cover his mouth. "We said some things to each other that needed to be said, and now that those things have been said, we can go back to ignoring each other."

"He had no right to get as angry as he did," I said, getting angry myself. "He's shown very little interest in me for over a year, and then, all of a sudden, he's interested in what I'm doing again? No, he's interested in what you're doing, that's what it is." I leaned back into the sofa.

"Laura," Oliver said. "You knew that Percy was going to get mad. I knew Percy was going to get mad. I knew that you would probably get a little mad at Percy. But I also thought you might be at least a little happy."

"I am happy," I said, quickly. I smiled. "I can't even get as angry at Percy as I should be."

Oliver shook his head but smiled. "I had the same problem. That's why I was the one sleeping in the common room last night. I don't think the Seventh Years could have made Percy do anything he didn't want to do last night."

I nodded, completely sure that Oliver was right. There was a pause. "So…."

"How did the girls take the news?" Oliver asked.

"About us?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Pretty well. They were a little surprised, but not surprised enough not to guess what was going on yesterday. I think Joan's seen it coming for a while. Did you know that it was her fault that we were paired together for that project in Transfiguration months ago?"

Oliver looked over at me. "What do you mean?"

"She put McGonagall up to it. Probably told her a sob story about how I was miserable and that if I could forgive you, I could have more company. Anyway, McGonagall bought it."

"I didn't know that. I guess I'll have to thank them both for interfering in others' business," he said, taking my hand.

I blushed.

"Is something wrong?" Oliver asked, looking at me concernedly.

I shook my head. "No," I said honestly.

"You're acting strangely," he said, squeezing my hand a little.

I smiled and blushed a little more.

"I'm making you uncomfortable," Oliver said, laughing.

I laughed, too. "Yes," I admitted.

"Why?" he asked, still laughing.

"I have no idea," I said quickly. "I just… have no idea how to treat you now."

Oliver shrugged. "The same as you always have treated me. Well… maybe with a few differences," he said, grinning.

"A few differences?" I said, grinning back a little mischievously. "Such as… calling you disgustingly cute nicknames? Or should I giggle whenever you say anything? Or write your name all over my notes with little hearts around it?"

Oliver shook his head, smiling. "I wouldn't mind my name being all over your notes, but the other two things would get annoying."

I forced myself to giggle.

He laughed wholeheartedly. "What in the hell was that?"

I started laughing normally again and leaned in towards him, resting my head on his shoulder. "I'm not sure. I don't think I've ever made that noise before. I'm not the giggling type."

"No, you aren't," he said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. "But at least you're loosening up around me again."

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm not standoffish around you," I said.

He laughed, took his arm back and scooted away a little. He clasped his hands and put them in his lap. "You're not making me uncomfortable, Oliver," he said in what shockingly sounded very much like how I talk.

"Hey!" I said, hitting the side of his leg with my hand.

He kept laughing but stopped acting like me.

"That wasn't very nice," I said, smiling to show I was kidding.

"No, it wasn't. I'm sorry," he said, still laughing.

"That's it? You're sorry?"

"What else do you want me to say?" he joked.

"I never said I wanted you to say anything."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh?" he asked, leaning towards me.

"You two are disgusting," Adam said.

Oliver and I turned quickly to see Adam and Mark standing behind the couch looking down at us. The two of them looked like it was killing them to not laugh, and they quickly gave up trying not to.

"How long have you been standing there?" Oliver asked, with more than a little irritation in his voice.

"Long enough for you two to never live that conversation down," Mark said, still laughing heartily.

"I'm sorry," Adam said.

"That's it? You're sorry?" Mark asked, making his voice higher to mimic me.

"What else do you want me to say?" Adam asked, hamming up his acting as much as humanly possible.

"I don't want you to SAY anything," Mark said, forgetting to raise the pitch of his voice halfway through. The two boys broke into hysterics again.

I blushed but couldn't help laugh a little. Oliver was laughing, too.

"Honestly, we know that people say some, shall we say, sappy things when they first start dating to deal with some awkwardness, but… damn," Mark said.

"Will you two go away?" Oliver asked, still laughing.

Adam raised his hands like he was surrendering, and Mark just laughed.

"Sure, mate. We just came over to warn you."

"Warn me about what?" Oliver asked.

"Warn you that Percy doesn't appear to have slept off any of his anger. If anything, it might have gotten worse. I didn't think it could get much worse, but…. Well, perhaps you should just stay clear of him for a while," Mark said.

"Maybe I should try to talk to him," I said.

"Probably not the best idea," Mark answered. "Your name possibly had worse words following it than Wood's did."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "Worse than Oliver's?"

"Thanks for that," Oliver said.

I looked over at him and smiled. "Sorry."

He just smiled back.

"I can't take this," Adam said, shaking his head at us.

Mark laughed. "We just wanted you to know, Wood." He grinned. "I'm sorry."

"That's it? You're sorry?" Adam asked, picking up the script immediately.

"What else do you want me to say?"

"I don't want you to SAY anything."

The two left the room laughing.

"I will never hear the end of that," Oliver said, blushing a little.

I laughed a little under my breath. "I'm sorry. They'll move on soon enough, I'm sure."

"Only when we give them something even more embarrassing to use," Oliver said.

"I can't wait," I said, laughing and putting my hand in his.

He smiled and quickly looked over his shoulder. "I can't either, but don't tell anyone that," he said quietly.

I leaned in and kissed him. He pulled away more quickly than I'd expected.

"We probably shouldn't be like this when Percy comes downstairs," he said quickly. "Might make things worse for all of us. I don't really want to sleep down here again."

I nodded. "You're right. It's time for breakfast, anyway."

We walked downstairs hand in hand. Some people we passed in the hall smiled and then started whispering when they thought we couldn't hear them anymore.

"How long do you think it'll be before everyone knows?" I asked.

"About an hour," he said.

"That long, you think?" I asked.

"I was guessing conservatively," he answered.

I nodded. We walked a bit farther in silence. It wasn't an awkward silence, but it wasn't a comfortable one either. I quickly came up with another topic. "You never told me about letting the Golden Snitch go into that room."

Oliver's face lit up more than it had all morning. "No, I didn't, did I? I had just fallen asleep after all of the festivities were ended by McGonagall. A house elf woke me up at dawn to tell me I needed to go to the Quidditch stadium. Professor Dumbledore and all of the heads of the houses were waiting in the center of the field. Professor Dumbledore congratulated the team and me and handed me the Snitch that Harry had caught.

"The six of us walked to the side of the stadium. It turns out there's a faster way into that room than through the locker rooms. We walked through one of the walls in the stadium and directly into the room with the Snitches. Professor McGonagall lit her wand, but that was the only light. I could only see slight shimmers of light from the Snitches. We all stood there for a few minutes. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. Finally, Professor Dumbledore smiled kindly and said, 'Let it go.' So I did."

"Could you see it fly away in the dim light?" I asked, watching him remember the experience instead of watching where I was going.

"No," Oliver said, pulling on my arm a little so I wouldn't run into a student passing by. "I could feel it fly around me once before joining the other Snitches, but it was too dark to watch it."

"Oh. That's too bad."

Oliver shook his head. "I know what it looked like."

I smiled up at him, and he pulled my arm again, so I would avoid a door that had opened.

"Be careful," he said kindly.

"Why? I haven't run into anything," I said, turning my head to watch where I was going anyway.

"You haven't hit anything because I'm watching where you're going for you," Oliver said jokingly while watching me. I pulled on his arm, and he barely avoided running headlong into Professor Dumbledore.

Dumbledore nodded and smiled while passing. He started whistling a tune I didn't recognize as he continued down the hall.

"Be careful," I mocked.

"I have never almost run into anything in my entire life," Oliver said, sounding genuinely surprised.

"And how does it feel to be as unobservant as the rest of us for once?" I asked.

"Unobservant? I've never been so focused on one thing, either," he said.

I turned, blushing, and smiled up at him. "Where is Oliver and what have you done with him?"

Oliver laughed. "I have no idea. Thank God Mark and Adam weren't here to hear that, though."

"We'll be sure to pass it along."

"You must be kidding," Oliver said, as we stopped walking, and Cedar and Rose ran into our backs.

"Honestly, how could you not know we were there?" Rose asked, grinning at the two of us when we decided to turn around and face them.

"They were 'never so focused on one thing', remember?" Cedar asked.

"Not you, too," I said. "Don't you all have better things to do than eavesdrop on our conversations? It's creepy, honestly."

"I take it Adam and Mark overheard one of your conversations this morning?" Cedar asked.

"Unfortunately," Oliver mumbled.

Rose smiled even more. "Well, we won't make you relive the experience. I'm sure the boys will pass along that information."

Oliver smiled back sarcastically.

"I must say I didn't really believe the two of you were together until this walk down to breakfast," Rose said, as the four of us started walking again.

"You really didn't know we were following?" Cedar asked.

"No, we didn't," I answered.

"Have you kissed her yet?" Rose asked Oliver, jokingly.

Oliver laughed and turned red. "That's really none of your business, is it?"

"Of course he has," Cedar said.

"Can we change the subject?" I asked quickly.

"He has, hasn't he?" Cedar asked, seriously.

"Go away!" I said, laughing and holding my palm up to my forehead, wincing as if the conversation was hurting me physically.

"You better have, Wood—"

"I have! Merlin…." Oliver said. I could hear the embarrassment in his voice.

I took my hand away from my face.

"Good," Cedar said with finality, and I was thrilled to be done with that conversation.

The four of us walked into the Great Hall, and Oliver and I reluctantly joined the other Seventh Years. Joan and Tara had gone down before even Adam and Mark. To our amazement and relief, our friends didn't give us much of a hard time. Mark and Adam only ran through their script of Oliver's and my conversation twice, and there were a few funny looks, but that was all. Everything else seemed relatively normal in the group. I was relieved. I could deal with the slight awkwardness around Oliver. I had been expecting Percy's wrath. It was nice to have some stability with the rest of the Seventh Years.

About halfway through breakfast, Percy walked into the Great Hall with Penelope. Our section of the table grew silent, and the half of the table facing Percy watched the two take a seat. Fortunately, Oliver and I were on the side with our backs to him. Percy didn't stop to chat… or yell.

"How's he look?" I asked quietly, unable to pretend like nothing had happened.

"Um… well…." Joan started.

"Like the two of you were nonexistent, more or less," Cedar said bluntly. "He looked completely normal… happy… until he passed our section of the table. Then, he just looked rather apathetic."

I raised my eyebrows and sighed. "Well… I wasn't expecting any differently, I guess."

"He seems to have calmed down since this morning," Adam said, cheerfully.

I shook my head. "No, if Percy's not saying anything, it means that he's more angry at me than if he were in my face yelling obscenities."

"I don't know. He seemed pretty pissed last night when he was in Wood's face yelling obscenities," Adam said.

"It's different," I said quickly.

Oliver nodded. "He hates me, is what she means. The silent treatment is reserved for the people he actually likes."

"How nice of him," Mark said.

We laughed a little and moved into new, normal conversations.

The school day was normal, yet different. It was the same old Monday routine: Arithmacy, Transfiguration, lunch, Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Nothing remarkable occurred in any class, but little changes made that Monday seem different from any previous Monday that year. Oliver walked me to Arithmacy before going to his own Muggle Studies class. People in the halls would smile at the two of us (with the occasional glare coming from a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old girl). Professor McGonagall gave us a genuine smile when she saw Oliver sitting next to me, holding my hand.

At lunch, Mark and Adam tried to convince us Seventh Years that they, too, had seen the relationship coming all along. No one bought it. In Potions, Snape made a snide remark about Gryffindor's "newest couple" and how "Hogwarts relationships" rarely work. When the Sixth and Seventh Years who were apathetic about Oliver and I dating heard that our relationship pissed Professor Snape off enough for him to say something, these Sixth and Seventh Years became much more outwardly supportive of the whole thing. Not that Oliver and I needed other people to support the relationship, but the fact that they did helped our uneasiness that day.

Professor Lupin, in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, probably made more of a deal out of Oliver and I dating than any other professor, perhaps with the exception of Hagrid, who beamed whenever he saw us for weeks. He smiled much like Professor McGonagall had when he saw us sitting beside each other. Our lesson that day was on a few counter-curses that could be used while dueling. He had Oliver and I demonstrate the counter-curses for the class "to prepare Oliver and Laura for their future minor domestic disputes." We knew to take his teasing in good spirits. It was slightly easier for me to do so; I would have defeated Oliver in each duel had the duels been real. Oliver continued to claim for weeks that he'd let me win the duels. I always responded by telling him that it would be easier for everyone if he learned to admit when he was defeated by me because it would happen often.

That evening, after dinner, I tried to do homework for a couple of hours. It was difficult to concentrate on my studies because people kept interrupting to comment on how they were glad to see Oliver and me happy again.

"Laura?"

I looked up from my Transfiguration book, clearly showing my frustration.

"I'm sorry," Oliver said. "I didn't mean to bother you."

I shook my head and smiled. "Not at all. I was expecting another well-wisher that I didn't really want to talk to."

"I take it you don't mind talking to me, then," Oliver said, pulling out a chair but not sitting in it.

"Most of the time," I said, grinning.

"Would you like to get out of Gryffindor? Go take a walk perhaps?" Oliver asked quickly.

I checked my Muggle watch. "It's already after curfew, Oliver."

"Only by about fifteen minutes. It's not like we're getting anything accomplished. People have been interrupting our studying all evening."

"Yes, but if we get caught—"

Oliver interrupted me with his laughter. "If we get caught, then this is probably the only day we'll ever be able to get away with it. Think about it. If someone catches us, then we'll plead temporary stupidity, send some puppy love looks at each other and act cute. No one will want to ruin our good day."

"Except Snape. Or Percy," I said.

"Percy's not monitoring the halls tonight. And we'll stay away from the dungeons. Does Snape ever leave the dungeons?"

I shrugged. "I've never seen him upstairs before. But I don't usually wander the halls at night."

The truth was that I didn't mind following rules. If I absolutely had to break a rule, I would, but otherwise I stayed within the guidelines. Maybe Percy had rubbed off on me a little bit. The thought that Percy may have been influencing my thinking made me seriously consider Oliver's argument. He was probably correct. If we did get caught that night, most people would probably look the other way.

Oliver could see that I'd made up my mind and walked around the table. He took my hand and pulled me up.

"All right," I said, sighing. "Just let me put my books upstairs."

"I don't think anyone will take your homework."

I looked at him curiously. "Why are you in such a hurry to leave the common room?" I looked around. "Is Percy in here or something?"

Oliver laughed, but just barely. "No, and even if he were, it wouldn't chase me out of the room. I just… we haven't had much time alone today. Everyone's been too interested in us to give us any time to ourselves."

I smiled and blushed a little. Oliver smiled back, and I followed him silently out of the common room, leaving my books where they were.

For several minutes, we walked slowly, hand in hand, through the upper floors of Hogwarts. For the first time, I did not feel awkward around Oliver while there was silence. I knew that we still had things to talk about. But I also knew that we could talk about these things… there was no rush. And we had had enough conversations that we didn't have to share every thought with each other anymore. We already knew, in some basic form, what the other person was thinking.

"I don't think I've been in this hallway," Oliver said, after we'd been out of the common room for almost half an hour.

"I used to have to walk through here on my way to the Divination Tower."

Oliver looked down at me, smiling. "You did take Divination, didn't you? I'd forgotten that."

"Largest waste of time of my life," I said. "I have absolutely no sense of the future. Professor Trelawney said I was too wrapped up in the past to be able to see into the future. Maybe she was right. I doubt it, though. I seriously wonder if Trelawney was ever able to see anything meaningful in the future."

"I don't think many people believe she can see into the future. I suppose Dumbledore would never have hired her if she didn't have some talent, though."

"I know of one person who placed some faith in Professor Trelawney," I said, smirking slightly.

"Who?" Oliver asked.

"Rose," I said, trying not to laugh.

"Rose? Our Rose? She doesn't seem like the type to fall for that kind of thing."

"She is when she likes what she hears."

Oliver stopped walking, and since I was still holding his hand, I stopped as well and faced him.

"I have a feeling this is going to be a pretty good story. I'd like to focus more on the story than where we're going," he said, leading me over to a windowsill at the end of the small hallway were we in. The two of us put our weight against the sill. "All right. Let's hear it."

I laughed. "Well, Rose needed a letter of recommendation, and Professor Trelawney always liked Rose because Rose actually pretended like she cared what we were learning about in that class. Rose was good at making up fortunes that not only sounded believable, but were based in the lessons we had. She got an Outstanding on O.W.L.s in that class. We're not sure why she didn't take N.E.W.T. levels of the class.

"Anyway, I went upstairs with Rose and Tara so Rose could ask for a letter of recommendation. Professor Trelawney was pleased to be asked. She said she couldn't write one without looking at Rose's palm, though. Rose agreed, of course. Professor Trelawney looked at her palm and said a few things that I don't remember about the Head and Life lines. When Professor Trelawney reached the Heart Line, she gasped. Professor Trelawney said that it appeared that Rose was in a time of unrequited love at the moment, but that very soon this love would be returned."

Oliver laughed.

I nodded. "Rose wouldn't let us leave until she'd gotten Professor Trelawney to tell her that Rose and Flint would be happily married with two children and a dog. Professor Trelawney, thankfully, told Rose what she wanted to hear. I would have hated to see what Rose would have done to the poor woman if Trelawney would have said that Rose and Flint had no future together."

"I think it would have been rather amusing to watch."

I laughed. "I actually thought that Rose was losing hope in anything ever working with Flint, but now her hope is back as strong as ever."

"I've heard rumors that it may not be hopeless," Oliver said.

I looked up in him with surprise. "You mean Flint is actually coming around?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd say that. I'd say it would be closer to say that Flint is starting to give in. It's pretty obvious to the rest of the school that Rose will never give up. The two were seen walking around the grounds yesterday afternoon."

"You're kidding," I said, impressed.

"Of course… the rumors did include the part about Rose attaching herself to Flint with a charm. But he didn't break the charm for over an hour."

"He probably couldn't figure out how," I said.

Oliver laughed. "I'm afraid you might be right. But let's not give up hope if Rose hasn't."

I smiled up at him. "That was sweet."

"Then I take it back," he said. He put his hands on my waist and pulled me closer.

My stomach flipped, and I felt myself blushing furiously. Oliver was nice enough not to say anything about it. He leaned down to kiss me. I closed my eyes and tilted my head up towards him. Oliver must not have seen my move my head. He ended up kissing my chin.

The two of us leaned away from each other quickly. I looked up at him. Both of us were clearly bright red now.

"I missed," he said simply, taking his hands off my waist.

His tone of voice and face made me start laughing.

"Yes, you did," I said, trying to match his simplicity.

He started laughing, too. "You aren't willing to take any of the responsibility?" he teased.

I shook my head. "No, I believe I shirk responsibility quite well and don't intend on stopping now."

"Well… what are you going to do when we graduate, and you have to take some responsibility?"

He was kidding, but my mind still registered it as a valid question.

"I don't know," I said, honestly.

Oliver just smiled kindly. "I don't know either."

"I don't really like to think about what's going to happen after Hogwarts," I said.

"Surely you've thought about it a little. We're all on career paths. Have been since our fifth year, after we talked to Professor McGonagall," he said.

"Well, yes," I admitted, turning away from him and looking out the window. "I want to work for The Daily Prophet, but I don't like to think about what I'll do if I don't get a job there."

"You've applied?" Oliver asked kindly.

"Last year," I confirmed, "and I've set up an interview for a few days after graduation."

"Then I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."

I looked over at him and smiled. He had also turned to look out of the window. It wasn't a great view. This window looked out at another wall of Hogwarts. Of course, the window wasn't meant to show people anything spectacular. This wasn't a place people normally stopped. It was a hallway used to get from one part of the castle to another, and the window let in light adequately enough for that.

"I'm afraid I'll worry about it until I know for sure either way."

"I never knew that's what you wanted to do," Oliver said, perhaps a little to himself.

"I never told you," I said.

"I never asked."

"I never asked you what you wanted to do with your life after graduation, either," I said.

He looked at me and laughed a little.

"You're right. I knew what you wanted to do."

"I didn't say anything. How do you know I was right?"

"I knew what you were thinking. But I still never have asked about your plans, so there's no need to feel bad about asking about mine. Have you tried out for any teams?"

"No," Oliver said. "Madame Hooch told me that there were scouts from a few teams in Britain here at the last game. Not necessarily for me, mind you. For any Sixth and Seventh Years."

"Perhaps, but they must have noticed the captain of the winning team," I said, happy for him.

He smiled. "I hope so. I'll find out soon enough. But what about you? What do you want to do for the Prophet?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea. I've just always wanted to work for that paper. It's where most British wizards get their news, and… I knew a long time ago that if I couldn't make the news, I wanted to at least spin it the way I wanted."

Oliver laughed. "So you want to write?"

"Not necessarily. Everyone who works for the paper can spin the news. Even the people who decide the layout can influence how people see the stories."

"That's true, I suppose."

"Professor McGonagall told me that my flexibility would help me, or my lack of commitment to one part of the field would hurt me. I've been hoping that The Daily Prophet will see things in any way that will help me. Ultimately, it will all depend on my N.E.W.T.s."

Oliver sighed. "My back-up plan does. If I don't make any Quidditch team, then I'll try to join the Ministry, like my dad."

"You don't seem to keen on the idea," I said carefully.

Oliver shrugged. "I don't think the back-up plan ever sounds that appealing. That's why it's Plan B, right?"

I laughed a little under my breath. "Makes sense."

"And, if I do make a team and can make a career out of Quidditch, eventually I'll have to retire from that and get a real job. Then the Ministry of Magic can become Plan A." He smiled. "But I'll admit that I'd like to keep that part of my life farther into the future than at the end of this school year."

I didn't say anything.

"It's kind of scary, isn't it?" Oliver asked after a few minutes.

"The future? Yes, it's terrifying. Let's try not to think about it for a while longer," I said, smiling to show that I wasn't too serious.

He put his arm around my waist. "We still have a couple months to stay under Hogwarts' protection."

"Yes," I agreed. I leaned toward him and smiled to myself.

Hogwarts had always offered a sense of refuge. Especially my fourth year, when I could escape from the previous summer by diving into my school work like I never had before. Then, Hogwarts and the people in it had offered me a future by educating me. Now, Hogwarts and the people there made the present feel safe and protected me from the future.

"This is a horrible view," Oliver said.

I laughed. "You picked the window, not me." I turned away from the window and toward Oliver.

"Fair point," Oliver said. He turned me around slowly, so that my back was to the window, and he took a few steps back. "That's a little better."

I laughed and shook my head.

Oliver laughed, too. "That was a horrible line."

"Yes," I said.

"I'm trying," he said, shrugging.

"Trying to what?"

He shook his head and laughed a little more. "I have no idea. I guess the truth is… I'm not entirely sure how to act around you anymore, either."

I sighed. "I think you had it right this morning. Act like you always have… with a few differences."

"Such as?" he asked, smirking, making me answer that question again.

I smirked back. "Well… for one thing, you could work on your aim a bit."

He laughed and blushed a little, but he didn't miss when he kissed me again.

After a few minutes, Oliver stood back a little and laughed. "I think I like this difference."

I laughed, too. "I'm glad," I said, jokingly patting him on the arm. I caught a glimpse of my watch. I didn't think I had seen the time correctly, so I looked more carefully. "It's really late, Oliver. I don't think even we could get out of trouble now."

He nodded. "Let's head back, then."

He took my hand, and we made our way quickly, but quietly back to Gryffindor Tower without running into anyone patrolling the hallways. The fact that we'd spent so long out after hours without getting caught made me question the security at school a little, but the thought passed quickly. That night, I just didn't care much about whether anyone who didn't belong could get into the castle without being noticed.

When we got back to the common room, it was empty. I walked over and gathered up my books. I hadn't finished my homework, but I could get what needed to be done the next morning. Oliver walked me over to the door leading to the girls' dormitories, perhaps needlessly, but I didn't mind.

"Good night, Oliver," I said quietly, before kissing him lightly on his cheek.

"Sweet dreams, Laura," he responded, opening the door and then shutting it softly behind me.

I smiled to myself and walked upstairs.

_Author's Note_: Hooray for 2 a.m. I've been so nervous about this chapter that I put off writing it for about a year. I probably could have put off the end of this chapter another day, but I like writing while no one is awake.

This was a very hard chapter to write. My plans for it changed completely while I was writing it. I ended up deciding that the characters' plans for the future fit in with their conversation here better than the conversation that I originally intended to go into this chapter. That means I have to craft the next chapter around that other conversation. Which means that it might take me a little while again. The truth is that I had forgotten how long it takes to write even one rather simple conversation. I try not to think about how many hours must have gone into the part of this story I wrote last year (or sometime near last year).

Thank you all for waiting for the past few weeks for this chapter. You're all marvelous… simply marvelous! Thanks especially to Marie Dantes for looking over this chapter for me and offering moral support. Go check out her story, _Harry Potter and the Lightning Bond_. The story follows this missing Gryffindor fifth years and contains clever clues leading up to the revelation of what the Lightning Bond is. It's got a good characterization of Professor Dumbledore, gives the Weasley twins the attention they deserve, and has an amusing original main character, Andrea. It's under my favorite stories, if you want an easy way to reach it.

_Coming up in the next chapter_ (I think): Percy's still pretty pissed, which angers Laura quite a bit. And Oliver has been worrying for months now about something that Laura told him.

Review! Pretty, pretty please with sugar on top, review this story. :-D


	11. Potions and Epiphanies

_Author's Note_: It's been a while since the last chapter. Thank you very much for your patience.

**Chapter 11: Potions and Epiphanies **

The next morning, I got up even earlier than usual so I could finish the homework I had neglected the night before. I was a morning person, but even morning people don't enjoy getting up before the time they normally do. Nevertheless, I immediately dismissed the thought every time I told myself that had I not gone on a walk with Oliver, I wouldn't have had to get up so early. There would be plenty of opportunities in my life to get a full night's sleep.

After half an hour of Transfiguration and forty minutes of Potions homework, the common room finally began to liven up as much as it can liven up at eight on a Tuesday morning. I closed my Potions book and looked towards the door leading to the boys' dormitories just in time to see Oliver walk into the common room.

I left my books on the sofa and walked over to meet him. He greeted me with a half-awake smile and a short kiss.

"I was happy not to find you sleeping in the common room this morning," I said, grinning.

Oliver laughed. "Not as happy as I am that you didn't." He looked at me carefully. "You don't look like you got much sleep."

"I got up early to finish some homework."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I wouldn't have asked you to go on a walk—"

"Don't worry about it. I don't regret walking with you instead of reading about Transfiguration…."

I lost track of my train of thoughts as I saw Percy walk out of the stairway. He looked over at Oliver and me and kept walking, now more resolutely. I focused my attention back on Oliver, trying to appear as if I didn't realize Percy was in the room. After Percy passed us, I frowned a little.

"Time for breakfast, I think," Oliver said, gently taking my hand.

"Absolutely," I said, looking him in the eyes and making an effort to forget about my problems with Percy, only to find that doing so wasn't so difficult. I gave Oliver a genuine smile, and we walked, for the second time, hand-in-hand down to breakfast.

I spent most of my free time over the next week with Oliver. Unlike much of our relationship up to that point, that week cannot be defined by one or two conversations… partially because we didn't spend a lot of that time talking.

Ironically, the same thing could be said about Percy and me. Percy was continuing the silent treatment, and I did my best not to make that difficult for him. I mainly tried to ignore Percy, which wasn't difficult since he was spending most of his time with Penelope or in the library. When I couldn't avoid Percy, I ignored him.

I found it hard to really care about Percy's or my own anger towards Percy when I wasn't near him. My mind was on other things. And, for the first time in such a long time… I was happy with how things were, even if things weren't perfect.

About ten days after I told Percy how I felt about Oliver, Percy's silent treatment started to break down. As most people who have suffered such a treatment before know, once the silence is broken, you rather wish it hadn't been.

I had spent my evening in the library, going over Transfiguration notes from the previous year. I reached the point where if I had read one more word of my notes, I might have beaten my head against the table to distract myself from the pain of dying of boredom. On my way back into the common room, I almost literally ran into Percy.

The two of us stood still, looking at each other for a few seconds before Percy stepped past me. Just when I was sure he was going to keep walking, he turned. "Five points off of Gryffindor for breaking curfew last week," he said calmly.

I was too surprised that he had spoken to me to respond. Percy took advantage of the silence and left quickly. Had I been a bit less angry, it might have occurred to me to chase after him and perform whatever curse I thought of first. Instead, I stood still, murmuring words that my mum still won't allow me to use in her presence and trying to figure out how Percy knew I had broken curfew. It took me longer to figure it out than it should have. Percy and Oliver did share a room, and the three of us were in the same house, after all.

My shock wore off quickly, and my anger became less blatant. I walked over and joined the rest of the Seventh Years, who were sitting in our usual spot near the center of the common room.

"What happened?" Adam asked, not about to pretend that the group hadn't noticed the small scene that had just occurred.

"He just took five points away from Gryffindor because I broke curfew last week," I said, obviously still more surprised than I had thought.

"He took five points away from his own house?" Rose asked.

"I've done it before," Joan said.

I looked at her, surprised yet again, not because she'd taken points away from Gryffindor before, but because she was a Prefect, and I had completely forgotten that.

"It's not that he took away points from Gryffindor. It's that he took them away from me," I said, focusing on the real issue again.

"Well…." Mark said. "Look at the bright side. At least he's talking to you again. That's progress, right?"

The rest of the Seventh Years laughed, and even I smiled after several seconds. I sat by Oliver and joined in on the conversations, my anger fading quickly.

That's pretty much how the next two weeks went. Gradually, Percy stopped ignoring Oliver and me. Instead of silence, we got to enjoy occasional snide comments. At first the comments were directed mainly at Oliver, who would say something back and move on. Then Percy started directing his comments at me. At first, my surprise at being targeted by Percy prevented me from standing up for myself. Once the comments stopped catching me by surprise, I started coming up with comebacks. Some of them were pretty good, much to the enjoyment of Adam and Mark, who critiqued each exchange between Percy and me and declared a winner. The two of them kept score on a piece of parchment titled "The War in the Corridors: Laura vs. Percy". I was usually narrowly ahead of Percy. To be fair, I did have two good coaches, who were also the judges and my friends.

Each time Percy would say something to me, I would get upset, but my anger quickly faded once Percy left. Oliver tried to talk me out of my anger at first, only to learn that I got over it faster if neither of us mentioned it.

I don't mean to make it sound as if these incidents occurred very frequently. Percy wasn't going out of his way just so he could throw an insult at me. In fact, the two of us still generally tried to avoid each other. Class and meals made avoidance slightly difficult, and at those times, we sometimes exchanged a few words. At the most, this happened twice per day. In all honesty, at all other times, it was not an issue. I wasn't brooding over fighting with Percy at all hours. If Percy was out of sight (or at least out of earshot), he was out of mind.

I still spent most of my time with Oliver, and the two of us avoided the subject of Percy, which we found surprisingly easy to do. Only weeks before, the two of us had been worried that our relationship would always be defined by our fight. The fight didn't even come up often anymore. We talked about the past, but we focused on individual events that had occurred instead of on how our relationship had been at the time.

"Hey, gorgeous," Oliver said, as I joined the Seventh Years one night after completing an assignment.

"Hello, beautiful," I said back, smiling.

"Oh, my God…" Adam said, looking up. "Deliver us from this evil."

Most of us laughed.

"We were kidding," Oliver said.

I sat down next to him on a sofa, and he put his arm around my waist.

"I thought that was obvious when I called you 'beautiful'," I said, smirking up at him.

Oliver grinned back.

"Ughck," Adam articulated.

Tara hit him playfully. "I wish we were still more like them," she said, smiling to show she wasn't entirely serious.

"We've been in love way too long for that," Adam said, grinning up at her.

"Merlin… get a room," Rose said, smirking at Adam.

"Anyway, Oliver and I are hardly ever like that around you anymore."

"No, which is a shame," Tara said.

Joan nodded in agreement. "I thought it was cute."

I sighed, but just barely. A part of me missed it, too. Most of me, however, was glad to have the normal Oliver back. He didn't say the "cute" things as often as he had when we started dating, and he almost never said those things around other people. Yet, he also treated me differently than he had right after we'd started dating. Most of the awkwardness was gone. I didn't turn bright red whenever he so much as touched my hand, and he didn't say sappy things whenever he didn't know what else to say. We were figuring out the 'differences' in our relationship that had given us trouble at first.

"Something wrong?" Oliver said quietly, as the rest of the Seventh Years kept talking.

"Not at all," I said, leaning my head against his shoulder.

The next week was dominated by school. Almost everyone seemed to realize that there was only one month until the Seventh Years had to take N.E.W.T.s, which were one week before school ended. The teachers responded to this realization by increasing the amount of material we were covering and decreasing the amount of time we spent on each lesson. The Seventh Years were scared into actually taking the assignments seriously and into furiously going over old material. The rest of the school knew enough to leave the Seventh Years alone.

Halfway through that week, I had the most memorable Potions class I had during my seven years at Hogwarts. Stress from the end of the year had put most people in the school in worse-than-normal moods. This, of course, meant that Snape had to be twice as mean as normal, in order to keep up appearances.

At the beginning of the class, Professor Snape told us about the properties of the Epiphany Potion, which basically clears one's thinking, oftentimes resulting in quite bright ideas. The Sorting Hat was supposedly the result of such a potion. Snape went on to say (almost cheerfully, which was always a horrible sign), that the potion is extremely difficult to make. It requires at least two people to make it because many of its ingredients need to be prepared while the potion itself is being carefully made. The potion requires a great deal of teamwork. As all students know, as the amount of teamwork needed to do a class project increases, so does the likelihood that the teacher will choose the teams. (Interestingly, this is Fred and George's Second Law of School Sucks.)

All of us always knew when Snape was about to assign partners. He would get a certain look on his face that only appeared when he was about to try to make someone's Potions experience more miserable than it already was. Unfortunately, he was looking directly at me when this look appeared. I wasn't surprised. Snape's least favorite type of person was someone who had been unhappy in the past and, by some miracle, was actually enjoying life.

"Debman and Weasley may work together today, I believe," he said, grinning. "I generally avoid grouping friends together, but today… I'll make an exception."

I smiled sarcastically at him and grabbed my notes and book bag before making my way over to Percy's table. Snape continued pairing people together, making as many Gryffindors unhappy as possible, even if this meant making Slytherins unhappy as well. No one argued with him. If Snape had taught us nothing else in seven years, he did teach us that, in his classes, our pleas for fairness would only be met with points taken away from Gryffindor or detention.

I sat down next to Percy and looked over the notes we had just taken on the potion and the directions in the book. "You should prepare it. You're better at making potions than I am," I said, seeing that the potion was indeed quite difficult.

Percy started setting up his cauldron. "No need for niceties. Perhaps being paired up with someone in a class has worked out well for you before. It's unlikely it will again."

"Just shut up, and let's do the damned assignment," I said quietly. "If for no other reason, just so we don't make Snape's day better."

Percy and I gathered all of the ingredients we would need, and the two of us prepared all of the ingredients that could be prepared before the potion was actually started. Then Percy got started, and I kept chopping and grinding various things into tiny pieces and powders. The two of us ignored each other as much as we could. Every now and then Percy would ask if an ingredient was done. I would point. He would take whatever he'd been asking for, and we'd go back to pretending we were sitting at lab tables in separate countries.

Other people in the room were having more problems getting along than Percy and I were. Almost all of the ingredients had one thing in common: they required longer amounts of time to prepare than the people with this job actually had. About every three minutes, someone could be heard snapping at his or her partner. Snape quickly disarmed the only Slytherin actually to draw his wand on his partner. Not that Cedar needed Snape's protection. She had already brought her Potions book down over the boy's head. Snape didn't punish either of them. He just handed the Slytherin his wand and cast a warning look at the partners.

"Is the liverwort shredded?" Percy asked blandly.

"Um…." I finished as quickly as I could and handed it to him.

Near the end of the lab, all of the people preparing the ingredients were behind the point where they needed to be. Minor spats could be heard in every part of the room, but no one was listening to anyone else's problems. Percy and I were the only two not arguing verbally. We satisfied ourselves with all of the unforgiving looks we could muster. Until….

"Oh, shit!" Percy said, loudly.

I looked up from the plant I was grinding into a paste. Our potion was bubbling intensely and started to spill over onto the table. I moved the other ingredients off the table and stepped away from the potion.

"What did you do?" I asked.

"I did exactly what the directions told me to do," Percy snapped. "You were the one not preparing the ingredients well enough."

"Well, they seemed to have passed _your_ inspection, so I can't take _all _of the credit."

Percy turned to look at me angrily. "I did notice. The dragonstail root wasn't chopped into small enough pieces, and the elf's fingernails weren't ground finely enough, and—"

"If you knew, then why in the hell didn't you say anything?" I asked, my voice starting to get louder. I turned my body to face him directly.

"I didn't want to hurt your feelings," he said, his eyes flashing, and his voice getting quiet.

"Hurt my feelings? Since when do you care about _my_ feelings?"

"I have always cared," Percy said, immediately sensing that the topic had changed. Years later, it occurred to me how few people in my life ever understood me well enough to have sensed such a subtle change.

Percy was furious, but I could hear a little sadness in what he'd said. At any other time, I would have felt bad for even mentioning Dan, let alone for accusing Percy of not caring about how I felt about Dan's death. On that day, I was too upset to care about Percy's feelings anymore, and I laughed dryly. "Yes. You always have cared enough _not_ to tell me the truth."

"Because you, Laura, are the _epitome_ of honestly itself," Percy said sarcastically.

"I would have told you the truth if I knew you already knew it!" I yelled.

"You always want honestly, unless it involves you being honest," Percy said, more loudly than before.

"Quit changing the subject!" I said, knowing it wasn't one of my best comebacks.

"You're the one who changed the subject away from the potion in the first place!"

"Fine! You want to get back to the potion? If _you_ would have told me the TRUTH, then the _potion _wouldn't have BLOWN UP!"

Professor Snape walked between the two of us, pushing us aside. "Clearly the potion hasn't blown up _yet_, but it will if you two stand there stupidly, yelling at each other," he snapped, waving his wand and making the potion disappear. He turned to glare at me. "You both know better than to leave a potion unattended—especially a potion that is obviously incompetently made. You could have killed half of the people in the room."

"Then you shouldn't have assigned an impossibly difficult potion," I snapped without thinking, still glaring at Percy.

This got the class's attention. I was sure that the class had been listening to the exchange between Percy and me, hoping for a major blowout. However, when I turned my anger on Snape, everyone turned to see how he'd respond.

I slowly faced Professor Snape, afraid of what I would see. At first, Snape didn't say anything. He just looked at me for several seconds. I thought that this should count as sufficient punishment, but I knew that the real punishment was to come. I had just enough time to wonder what horrors Oliver had been referring to on our walk back from Hogsmeade when he told me it was best not to think about what the professors could put you through during detention.

"Apparently Miss Debman believes that I should not ask you to do lessons that I believe will truly test you. Perhaps Miss Debman feels that I should only ask things of you that I know you are capable of. I believe you have all proven that you can write papers. Maybe Miss Debman would object less to a foot-long essay on another potion which requires teamwork."

The class groaned.

"Well, Miss Debman? Is this a more suitable assignment than preparing the Epiphany Potion?" Snape asked.

"No, sir," I said, trying to answer how I thought he wanted me to.

"Very well. Make it a foot and a half."

I winced. "I meant—"

"It doesn't matter what you meant," he snapped, turning quickly. "The rest of you have potions to monitor," he said.

Percy and I sat at the desk in complete silence while the rest of the class tried their best to make an Epiphany Potion. No one's potion looked quite how the book said it should look, but no one else made their potion almost blow up either. I decided that a person who wanted to have a bright idea would be well advised to spend their time thinking instead of attempting to make that potion.

When the class period finally ended, Percy and I gathered our things and went our separate ways. He walked out of the room quickly, and I walked over to Oliver.

Oliver smiled kindly. "Rotten luck with the potion."

I shook my head. "More like rotten preparation."

"It was an impossible assignment," he said quietly, so Snape couldn't hear.

I laughed a little, mainly just to recognize his attempt at making me feel better about failing the project. "Well… what's done is done."

"Yes," Oliver said. I noticed that he had paused before agreeing, but decided I'd rather not know why.

Oliver and I waited for Joan, Tara, Adam and Cedar. Rose had apparently already left the room, and Mark had opted out of taking Potions at the N.E.W.T. level, which at the time I considered a very good idea on his part.

The six of us walked out of the classroom, trying to talk our ways out of the bad moods that the potion had put us in. Had we known what would greet us in the hallway, we wouldn't have bothered. Oliver and I, who were in the back of the group, had just walked into the hallway. The six of us stopped dead in our tracks.

Rose, who must have been talking to Marcus Flint while we were still in the Potions lab, was leaning up on her toes. She kissed Flint, firmly but quickly. That would have been enough for us completely to forget about our Potions woes. What happened next was even more shocking. Flint took her in his arms and kissed her back.

I don't think my mouth had ever dropped open as far as it did then. I wish I had thought of looking at the other Seventh Years for their reactions. I am sure their faces probably looked similar to my own.

"_I_. _Will_. _Be_. _Damned_," Adam said confidently.

Rose and Flint realized they had an audience and turned toward us. Neither one of them looked even slightly embarrassed.

"I never knew Rose could perform the Imperius Curse," Adam whispered to Tara, but all of us could hear him.

"Very funny, Still," Rose said. "I decided to take a page out of Oliver's book and act on my feelings."

"That was a month ago," Oliver said.

"I didn't say I decided it right away," Rose said.

"You've been acting on your feelings for months," Cedar said.

Rose smiled. "And it paid off. Come on, Marcus. Let's find someplace with more privacy."

Rose and Flint headed further into the dungeons, and the rest of us started making our way to Gryffindor Tower.

"I don't like that relationship," Oliver said suddenly. We'd all been relatively quiet as we tried to shake off our surprise.

I looked up at him. "What happened to 'Let's not give up hope if Rose hasn't?'?"

"That was when she didn't stand a chance, and it was funny."

"If she likes him, we should support it," I said. "She's our friend."

"It's Marcus Flint," Adam said, making a face I normally would have found amusing.

"Who are we to tell our friend whom she can and cannot date?" I asked, getting defensive.

"I didn't say we should tell her she can't date him," Oliver said.

"What did you mean, then?"

"Laura—"

"Because if you outwardly don't support the relationship, then you might as well tell her she shouldn't date him."

"What _relationship_?" Oliver asked, sounding more confused than anything. "They hardly know each other."

"And we hardly know_ him_."

"It's not a huge deal…." Adam said, trying his best to smooth things over.

Oliver reached out and touched my arm. "This isn't about Rose and Flint, is it?"

I didn't answer or even acknowledge he'd said anything.

"No one's going to say anything to Rose, Laura," Joan said softly. "We don't have to like Flint in order to be glad Rose is happy."

I nodded.

Oliver took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. I squeezed his hand back and barely smiled up at him.

We reached the portrait of the Fat Lady and, after Adam gave the password, walked in. There was about an hour, which students usually spent wasting time, between when class ended and when dinner was served. Most assignments took longer than one hour to complete, and the consensus was that if you didn't have enough time to finish an assignment, then there was no point in beginning it at that time. The fact that most of the Fifth and Seventh Years could now be found studying during this hour before dinner was a testament to the rest of the school as to how near the end of the year was.

"I'm going to go upstairs and get a book," Oliver said, taking his hand back.

"I think I'm going to take a nap," I said nonchalantly.

Oliver looked at me disbelievingly.

"What?" I asked.

"You've been studying more than any of us, especially more than we have during this time. Not to mention that you never take naps," Oliver said.

"Then I think I can afford missing one hour of studying, considering how much more than the rest of you I've been studying," I said, a bit snappishly.

Oliver didn't push the issue. "I'm sure you can. I'll see you at dinner?"

I nodded before walking upstairs and falling onto my bed without even taking off my shoes. I didn't bother closing the curtains around my bed. Oliver was right—I normally didn't take naps. I always woke up with a headache and feeling more tired than before. But on that day, all I knew was that I was exhausted and in a bad mood, and I hoped an hour of sleep would help cure both of these problems.

Joan woke me up for dinner. I groaned. The nap, unsurprisingly, had made me feel physically worse. I thought that this was probably a bad sign for my mood. I rolled over and told Joan that I had a headache and wasn't hungry.

"Some food will probably help your headache," Joan said.

She started tugging on my arm, making it obvious that naptime was over. I dragged myself out of bed, brushed my hair quickly, and followed Joan downstairs to meet the others. I barely even heard the conversation on the way to dinner. It wasn't until we all sat down in the Great Hall that I realized that Rose was with us and that this actually meant something that day.

"You look like hell," she said, probably in response to me looking at her as if we'd never met before.

I smiled at her frankness. "I'm just tired. You, on the other hand, look like you're having a pretty good day," I said teasingly.

"I thought we were done with that," Rose said, sounding irritated but smiling.

I cocked my head.

"We talked about Flint and me the whole way down here," she said, showing her own confusion.

"And I missed it?" I asked.

"You were there," Mark said.

"But we can have the conversation again, if you'd like," Adam offered.

"I'd rather not," Rose said.

"Please," Cedar said, sarcastically. "You like the attention."

Rose simply smiled, neither confirming nor denying this.

"How could you miss that entire conversation?" Mark asked.

"Well, I didn't realize it was important."

The group laughed at me.

"Do I get a summary, or not?" I asked, grinning.

Summaries of conversations were Mark and Adam's specialty. They'd gotten practice while judging the spats between Percy and me.

"So… that was quite a show you put on an hour ago," Adam said, and it was obvious he'd originally said this.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mark said, mimicking Rose fairly well.

The rest of us laughed, forgetting dinner. Even Rose was obviously amused. She did have a good sense of humor regarding herself.

"Right… you've completely forgotten hooking up with Flint after Potions," Adam said, remarkably like Cedar.

"The two of us did not 'hook up.' We simply decided to swap some saliva," Mark said.

"I did NOT say that!" Rose said as the rest of us cracked up.

"What are you expecting? Direct quotes?" Mark asked innocently.

"Artistic license. Keep going," Cedar encouraged.

"And are the two of you a couple now?" Adam asked, as either Tara or Joan—I wasn't sure which.

"A couple? I'll have the sucker proposing within a week—"

Mark was cut off by Rose's dinner roll hitting him in the face, which made us all laugh even harder, but ended the performance. The teasing, on the other hand, kept going. I was glad that I hadn't missed anything on the walk to the Great Hall. No one had said anything substantial about Marcus Flint. As Joan had said, we didn't have to like Flint in order to be happy for Rose. I felt horrible for doubting that my friends really meant this.

My headache went away once I had eaten something, proving Joan correct yet again. My mood improved a little as we finished giving Rose a hard time and moved on to other subjects. Lately, we had been avoiding discussing school because it inevitably led to conversations about N.E.W.T.s. We mainly talked about things that we'd done in the past. Many times the group relived events that had happened before I started hanging around with them. Sometimes I felt left out. Most of the time I had been there or had at least been aware of the events and was able to offer a different perspective for the event. During that dinner, I made sure that I was paying attention to and participating in the conversation, in case something important was discussed.

After we all got enough to eat, we started making our way out of the Great Hall. We temporarily split into two groups, based on what side of the table we'd been sitting on. My side of the table reached the doors before the other group. We stopped by the marble staircase to wait for them. As the rest caught up with us, I noticed that Percy was walking down the stairs quickly, trying to reach the Great Hall in time to have enough time to eat a decent meal. I watched him come down most of the way before turning my attention to my friends. Percy didn't do anything to suggest he'd noticed me.

I was horrible at playing it cool, but in my defense, I didn't have very good models to imitate. Oliver was looking at me worriedly, Joan and Tara were looking at me sadly, and the rest were looking anywhere but at me.

I laughed a little. "It's amazing in a castle of this size how impossible it is to avoid seeing someone."

The others laughed, relieved that I wasn't pretending as if nothing had happened… even though nothing really had happened.

"So…." Mark said. "You're back on the silent treatment. Congratulations."

I shrugged. "It's not so bad."

"No, but it's not as entertaining as when the two of you are speaking, either," he said, grinning.

I laughed. "Sorry to disappoint you. Am I ahead of Percy in your contest between the two of us? For winning our… disagreements?"

"With the point you got today in Potions, you're ahead by two points."

"I won the fight in Potions?" I asked, doubtfully.

Adam shook his head slightly. "We decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. I couldn't really follow the argument."

I started walking up the staircase, and the others followed right away. "I'll take the points however I can get them," I said, forcing myself to laugh.

By the time I reached to top of the stairs, Oliver had caught up with me. He took my hand again. I looked up at him and smiled. It struck me that Oliver had barely said a word since we'd left for dinner.

"Something wrong?" I asked quietly.

"With _me_?" Oliver asked.

I nodded.

He gave me an odd look. "Yes," he said. "I'm worried about you."

"Me?" I asked. "Why would you be worried about me?"

"You've been acting strangely today. Taking a nap. Missing an entire conversation."

"I was tired." I laughed dismissively. "It's no wonder with all of the extra work we've had this week."

"What about fighting with almost everyone you've talked to today?"

"I haven't—are you talking about—"

I stopped talking because I realized the rest of the Seventh Years were listening. I couldn't really blame them. Oliver and I weren't lowering our voices, and it's not as if the Seventh Years could take a different route to get to Gryffindor. I pulled Oliver to the side of the hallway, and our friends paused, uncertain whether they should keep going.

"We'll come up in a minute," I said, making myself smile.

The group exchanged perplexed looks before continuing the walk to Gryffindor Tower.

"I think the aliens got to her," I heard Adam saying.

I shook my head and turned back to Oliver. "I don't have the heart to tell him that wizards told Muggles about aliens a long time ago to try to open their minds to different types of people. It didn't go over very well. Of course, the wizards probably shouldn't have tried to prove the lie with those flying lights."

"You're changing the subject," Oliver said seriously, but smiling. "You still haven't explained why you've gotten upset with almost everyone today."

"Are you talking about that whole thing about Rose and Flint on the way back from Potions?"

"Partially."

"I shouldn't have gotten that upset," I admitted. "I should have known all of you, and especially you, wouldn't have said anything to Rose, and I'm sorry I doubted you all."

"It's OK," Oliver said in a tone that suggested that he'd never really been offended. "We all know why you would think that. I mean…."

"You mean Percy said something to me about you," I said.

"Yes," Oliver admitted.

"That was what I was really upset about." I smiled. "So there's nothing to worry about."

Oliver shook his head. "That's not what's wrong."

"What?" I asked, my smile faltering.

"I know that you being angry over that wouldn't have made you miss a conversation an hour later. It never has before."

I didn't answer.

"But I think you _are_ pissed at Percy."

"I'm always pissed at Percy."

"Yes," Oliver admitted, sounding frustrated. "I wish you would just tell me what happened during Potions."

"What?"

"Anyone listening knew that the fight wasn't about the potion. The two of you were talking about honesty more than the potion's ingredients," Oliver said, sounding slightly guilty at admitting that he'd been eavesdropping along with the rest of the classroom.

"If you wanted to know what Percy and I were talking about, why didn't you just ask that in the first place?" I asked with irritation.

"I wasn't going to ask at all," Oliver said defensively, "but I also didn't think you were as upset about it as you clearly are."

I didn't respond. I was starting to get angry again and was focusing on not directing my anger at Oliver.

"I just want to help," he said, taking my other hand in his other.

"Sometimes I miss the days when you didn't give a damn," I muttered.

He smiled. "You don't mean that."

"No," I admitted, more begrudgingly than I really felt. "It's going to sound stupid if I explain it out loud."

"I promise not to think that it's stupid," Oliver said, still smiling. "And, if it's bothering you, it isn't stupid. And whatever is wrong is going to bother me until you tell me."

"And you'll bother me until I tell you," I said, getting more to the point.

"Probably," Oliver admitted. "Now… why are you mad at Percy?"

I took a deep breath. "Because he should have told me the truth," I said quickly, as if I'd wanted to say that for a while, and it had been pushing to get out.

"About what?" Oliver asked patiently.

"Dan."

It was obvious that Oliver hadn't been expecting this. He let go of my hands and put his hands in his pockets. Many wizards did this automatically whenever something made them nervous or caught them off guard. After all, their wands were usually in their pockets.

"What about Dan?" Oliver asked carefully, evidently not completely certain that he wanted to know the answer.

"That I had been dating him," I said, with some annoyance.

"But… you already knew that," Oliver said slowly, trying to put everything together.

"Exactly!" I said, his last statement releasing more of my resentment. "Of course I already knew! Did Percy think it would have been a surprise to me if he would have told me?"

"I doubt it," Oliver said, answering my rhetorical question.

"So, if Percy knew what I knew, why in the hell, in four years, would he never once mention it? Why, in _four years_, was it not important enough to even suggest to me that he knew the truth and that I wasn't protecting him from anything… that all of the times that I wanted him to understand… to know that I loved his brother, too… that I was hurting, too… all of that time that I told myself that if he knew it would…. I don't know. I guess I thought that if Percy knew I loved Dan, too, that he wouldn't be able to feel like his grief had the priority. For four years, I never told him about Dan and me so Percy's pain could always come first because Dan was his brother and best friend. And in all of that time, Percy never acknowledged my grief at all."

Even I was surprised by the amount of anger I felt over this. For a month, I had barely thought about this side of the fight I was having with Percy. I had thought that I was only angry because Percy was pissed at me for dating Oliver; all of our verbal disagreements until Potions had been centered around that. For the past month, whenever I'd thought about the fact that Percy had known about Dan and me, I'd quickly thought of something else. Potions had made it hard to keep ignoring my feelings, hence my bad mood that afternoon. Oliver pressing me on these feelings made ignoring them impossible.

While I thought about my own anger, Oliver tried to sort out everything I'd been telling him. He seemed to know that it was his turn to say something, but he still was confused over what I was talking about.

"How did Percy know you dated Dan?" he asked, eventually.

"Dan told him," I said bluntly.

"Oh," Oliver said, taken off guard again.

"Of course, Dan never told _me_ he'd told Percy," I muttered.

"And Percy told you all of this during Potions?" Oliver asked, incredulously.

"No, of course not," I said. "I don't think he meant to tell me at all."

"When did he tell you he knew?"

"The night I told him I was dating you," I answered. "For four years, silence, and then when it looks as if I'm finally moving on…," I started muttering again.

"Are you saying that Percy used _Dan_ to try to guilt you out of dating me?" Oliver asked, starting to sound angry himself.

I put my anger on hold long enough to think about what he'd asked. "No," I decided, unwilling to portray Percy as being that cold no matter how upset with him I was. "He wasn't trying to guilt me."

"Then why would Percy bring him up?" Oliver asked.

"I don't know. I think he was afraid I'd forgotten Dan."

"You haven't," Oliver said, not jealously—just stating a fact.

"I couldn't. But Percy wouldn't know that. He's never cared to ask," I said bitterly.

"Laura… I don't like Percy," Oliver said frankly, "but I do know some things about him. I know that Percy wouldn't have kept a secret like that from you in order to hurt you."

"I know that, but it did hurt me," I said, knowing that this form of argument was childish. "Anyway, he wasn't trying not to hurt _me;_ he was trying to avoid hurting himself."

"But isn't that why you never told him? To avoid hurting him, I mean," Oliver said, carefully, trying to make sure that I didn't turn my anger against him.

"Yes," I said.

"Maybe he thought you never told him in order to prevent hurting yourself, too."

"It's different," I said, frustrated. "I wasn't telling him something that I thought he didn't know. He wasn't telling me something he knew I already knew." My feelings prevented me from acknowledging the weakness of the argument, not to mention that I wasn't really addressing his comment.

"I know," Oliver said, sympathetically. "I'm just saying that maybe Percy was afraid to bring it up because he thought there was a reason you never did."

"There was a reason!" I said, impatiently. I didn't think about how complicated my own feelings were, let alone my reasoning supporting these feelings. "I didn't tell him because I didn't want to add my pain to his."

"Maybe he knew that," Oliver said gently.

"So, I could take on his pain, but mine was mine alone," I said, selfishly.

Oliver didn't respond. What could he say without pissing me off?

"Oliver, do you realize how hard that first year after Dan died was?" I asked.

Oliver shook his head and looked away from me for the first time since I'd started telling him what was troubling me.

"The Weasleys were supposed to take me home the morning that Dan died, but that clearly was out of the question. By the time I shook off the initial shock of everything that had happened, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had other people to deal with and barely noticed I was still there. There were people from the Ministry and St. Mungo's…. I just wanted to leave. I sent my owl to my parents with a letter telling them that they would have to come get me, and I just had to wait for them to get my letter and drive to the Burrow.

"I didn't know what else to do, so after I sent the letter, I searched for Percy and found him in his bedroom, alone. So, I sat by him, took his hand and let him cry. I tried to get him to talk about Dan, but he wouldn't. So, we sat in silence until Bill finally came to the room to tell me my parents were downstairs.

"It was the same thing at the funeral and dinner afterwards. I sat by Percy and held his hand."

"I know," Oliver said quietly, taking his hands out of his pocket to wrap his hands around one of mine. "I was there, at the funeral."

"I didn't see Percy again until school started a month later. Everything was normal unless anyone came up to tell him they were sorry about Dan. Percy would nod until the person went away, and then he would pretend as if nothing had happened. Sometimes I would find him alone in the common room late at night or in the corner of the library, not crying, but… I don't know, something close to crying. And I sat by him and held his hand until he went on pretending like everything was normal again."

I looked down at the ground, and Oliver squeezed my hand reassuringly. I looked up into his face and decided to say what I was thinking, no matter how it made me sound. "Where was he when I needed him?"

"I don't know," Oliver said.

"I don't know, either."

Oliver reached out and brushed a piece of my hair behind my ear, touching my cheek on the way. I wasn't sure why he did it. At first, I thought maybe he was brushing away a tear, but I wasn't crying. I didn't even feel like crying. I was talking to another person about Dan, but I didn't want to cry. It still hurt to talk about it, but it didn't hurt as much as it had when I'd talked about Dan earlier in the year. I took this as further evidence that, if I would have had someone to talk to, Dan's death wouldn't have hurt as much as it had for as long as it had.

After a minute of silence, Oliver said, cautiously, "Maybe Percy did think he was protecting you by letting you think he didn't know."

"Right," I said sarcastically.

Oliver ignored my comment. "Maybe Percy thought that if you could focus on helping him, it would help you with your own pain."

"Help my pain by ignoring it?" I asked critically.

"Help your pain by directing it to something else. Help it by making something else more important than it. Help it by allowing you to move past it."

I narrowed my eyes, partially because of my suspicion of the ideas and partially because of my confusion. And maybe partially to try to block ideas that sounded a bit too close to truth for comfort.

"Maybe Percy thought he was protecting you by letting you believe that you were protecting him."

Could that be true? Had it helped me to put my pain on the backburner while focusing on how Percy was feeling? I immediately dismissed the idea. It had hurt me to act as if my pain had meant nothing. I had hated ignoring my feelings.

Yet… hadn't it been easier to think about not getting any sympathy than to think about why I needed the sympathy? Hadn't I replaced feelings of my own loss with sympathy for Percy's?

"Then, all along, when I thought I was the good friend because I was protecting Percy… it was really him protecting me," I said slowly.

"No," Oliver said quickly, squeezing my hand gently. "You were protecting him—"

"I wasn't. He already knew about Dan and me."

"Laura… what do you think you were doing every time you sat beside him and held his hand?"

I looked away from him as the thought hit me. I had never felt as if I was doing anything to help Percy during those times. I had felt as if no one could do anything for Percy, except perhaps Dan. I always felt the worst for Percy when I thought about how Dan would have been the most suited person to help Percy through losing a brother.

"You both protected each other as well as you knew how. Isn't that what best friends do?" Oliver said softly.

I looked back up at Oliver, who was smiling encouragingly. I glanced down at his hands enveloping my own hand, as if they were shielding my hand from something.

No… as if he was protecting me from something.

I took my hand back, stepped closer to Oliver, and placed my arms loosely around his neck. He quickly returned my hug, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me a little closer. I rested my head on his chest.

"Thank you," I said.

"What for?" Oliver asked.

"Protecting me," I answered. I laughed a little at myself, feeling too sentimental… and feeling a little weak for needing some protection.

Oliver laughed once or twice, too. "I'm glad I can."

I thought a bit more about what Oliver had suggested about how I had dealt with my grief after Dan died, still hugging him for some support.

"I don't know if Percy really was thinking those things you said he was," I said, finally. "I think what you said is what you think I did to deal with my grief."

Oliver didn't respond, which meant that I had guessed correctly. He'd told me what he thought I'd been feeling by using Percy as a cover, in case his ideas didn't go over well.

"Don't worry," I said, smirking, although he couldn't see that. "I'm not going to get mad at you for being right."

"I wouldn't blame you for being mad at me for saying those things, true or not," Oliver said, sounding relieved anyway.

I laughed a little. "Well, I'm not angry. Not at you, anyway."

"You're still angry at Percy?" Oliver asked.

"Yes, but not as angry. I'm not as angry with him for not telling me about Dan, at least. The two of us should have talked about that years ago… and I can't cast all of the blame on that, can I?"

"I'm going to choose not to answer that question," Oliver said.

I laughed. "Good choice." I sighed. "At least I have someone to talk to _now_."

"Always, Laura."

I wondered why I hadn't told Oliver sooner about Percy knowing about Dan. I'd told him about so many things that had troubled me for years. Oliver was the only one to whom I'd admitted that part of me had felt responsible for Dan's death. I'd gone to Oliver when I thought I had figured out what I needed in life to be happy. Even when the two of us were barely friends, I'd been able to tell him about my worst fear of being alone for the rest of my life.

Hadn't Oliver helped me progress past all of those things? He'd helped me see that, even though Dan might not have been in the Quidditch pitch the morning he died if I hadn't asked him to join me, it didn't mean that it was my fault he'd died. Dan had decided to meet me that morning. Dan had fallen off his broom. I had done everything I could to try to help. Dan had died. But it wasn't my fault.

And after I told Oliver that I needed Percy and him to be happy in order to be happy myself, hadn't Oliver quickly assured me that neither of them would want me to be unhappy? I had needed him to point out the obvious: no fight could be responsible for all of our problems five years later. Even if Oliver, Percy and I had gone through Hogwarts as three friends, we still would have been forced to face life. If I blamed myself for everything that went wrong in my two friends' lives, I would never have any chance to be happy myself.

I was still working on getting over my worst fear. I referred to the fear as "the fear of being alone." When I'd told Oliver about it, he had tried to tell me that there was one person for everyone. It was one of the only times Oliver's words made me feel worse, not better. After all, I was afraid of there being one person for everyone. I was afraid that "my" person had died the summer before my fourth year. Dating Oliver had made my fear subside, partially. Ultimately, I decided that Oliver had been wrong, at least as far as I was concerned. I decided that there was more than one person for me… or I was there for more than one person. One of those people had died. It was no reason for me to be lonely.

And, with time, the conversation we had that night would fall under the category of talks with Oliver that changed how I viewed my own life. Eventually, I would be able to admit that taking care of Percy, and maybe even resenting Percy a little, had helped me deal with Dan's death. It might not have been the best approach to dealing with my feelings, but it had worked, at least a little. More importantly, I saw that I had been there for my best friend when he needed me the most. That was enough to stop being angry with Percy over that situation. And hadn't Oliver helped me realize that?

Hadn't Oliver helped me see all of that?

I took a step away from Oliver, sliding my arms away from his neck, but keeping my hands on his upper arms, near his elbows.

"I love you, Oliver," I said.

It suddenly occurred to me that we had been having this conversation in a hallway that did get a heavy flow of traffic. How many people had walked by since we had started the conversation? How many people had heard bits and pieces? I looked around quickly to see if anyone was in earshot at the moment. Then it struck me that I couldn't do anything about what people had or hadn't heard. Shouldn't I be more concerned that I'd just told Oliver that I loved him?

I'd just told Oliver that I loved him? I scanned his face quickly. There was a look of surprise there. So, yes… I must have said it aloud. I continued monitoring his face as the surprise was slowly erased by a small smile.

I took this to be a good sign and smiled back. "I love you," I repeated, paying attention so I could hear myself say it. "And I have for a long time," I added.

He smiled at me a little more broadly. "I love you, too," he said.

"You do?" I asked, tears coming into my eyes. I wondered why it was that I wanted to cry more now than I had at other points in the conversation.

He laughed. "Yes, I do." He pulled me a little closer to himself. "And I have for a long time," he said quietly.

I laughed too, glad to have a reaction more suited to happiness than shedding tears. I put my arms back around his neck and kissed him.

The kiss lasted for a minute, until I heard people walking down the hallway and broke away from Oliver.

A large group of Second and Third Year Gryffindors walked past us, talking loudly amongst themselves. I wondered if they even noticed that we were standing there. Oliver and I watched them disappear around a corner, and then laughed—I wasn't sure why.

"We should probably get out of this hallway," I said, taking one of Oliver's hands in my own.

He nodded and the two of us walked back towards Gryffindor. We didn't say anything until we were almost to the Fat Lady's portrait.

"The rest of the Seventh Years are probably wondering whether we'll come back as a couple or just as friends," Oliver said, laughing a little.

"Why? Were you worried?" I asked, grinning.

He laughed, self-consciously. "I wasn't sure what you were upset about. For all I knew, you were ready to break up with me. So… yes, I was a little worried."

We reached the portrait, but neither of us gave the password.

I looked at the portrait for a few seconds, and then looked at Oliver. "You really think they're worried about us?"

Oliver shrugged. "A little."

I paused, thinking about the studying that I was going to be facing as soon as I walked into the common room. "Think they'll survive?" I asked.

Oliver laughed. "I think they'll make it."

"Would you like to take a walk?" I asked, grinning.

"That sounds like a good idea," he said, taking my hand, as the two of us walked away from the common room.

I decided to ignore what the Fat Lady was muttering to herself about people bothering her for no reason. Maybe it was just my good mood, but I didn't think she sounded as angry as she usually did when someone bothered her for no reason.

_Author's Note_: When I told you all that the last chapter was difficult to write, I forgot to knock on wood. This chapter showed me some of what "difficult to write" really means.

The conversations in this chapter gave me fits! Especially difficult was the final conversation between Laura and Oliver. Suffice it to say that I have five different drafts of the conversation. Considering how much had to be revealed in just a few pages, I'm satisfied (enough) with how it turned out.

The internal conflicts that Laura had over Dan are about as resolved as they are going to get. She forgave herself for the circumstances of his death. This chapter starts the process of her accepting that Dan's death hurt her. I do think that these are two different conflicts: dealing with the death and dealing with her feelings over it. And I do think the latter would be harder for her to come to accept.

But the story is not finished! There are still conflicts to attend to and things for the characters to learn about themselves and each other.

I have to admit that Fred and George's Second Law of School Sucks was inspired by The Laws of Applied Terror. They can be found at http/ that link doesn't work, google "First Law of Applied Terror."

Thank you to all of the people who have reviewed this story! I've read them all (probably more than once), and they helped motivate me to write this chapter.

Thanks again to electronicquillster/Marie Dantes for the extra advice and entertaining e-mails.

Coming up in the next chapter: Relationships around Oliver and Laura influence their own relationship.

R-E-V-I-E-W! What does that spell? REVIEW! Yeeeeeaaaaahhhhh:spirit fingers that morph into jazz hands:


	12. Puddlemere Divided

_Author's Note_: There are no major Half-Blood Prince spoilers in this chapter. After all… this is three years before _Half-Blood Prince_. However, in later chapters, there WILL be Half-Blood Prince spoilers. You have been warned.

_Chapter 12: Puddlemere Divided_

The professors were covering more material during class, and at a faster rate than we Seventh Years had ever experienced. Despite this, we suddenly saw a drastic cut in homework assignments we received. In almost every subject, all new material was covered during class, so our time outside of class could be dedicated to reviewing old material. While we were all glad to have the time to study for N.E.W.T.s, we all quickly ran into a problem with the new "homework" situation: it was discouraging. When we were working on a normal assignment, we could see our progress. For example, if we had one hundred pages for Defense against the Dark Arts to read, we could easily see our progress by checking the page number. Studying isn't like that. We could study one subject for twenty hours and feel just as uncertain about whether we had studied enough. This discouragement, combined with an overload of information and the tediousness of the study material made focusing on studying very difficult.

Oliver and I quickly found a way to focus on the material we needed to study. We took turns quizzing each other. We had to pay attention in order to hear each question or to think of a question to ask. In order to stay on task, we turned the quiz sessions into small competitions, keeping track of how many questions each of us answered correctly. Both of us were competitive enough that we took even these trivial contests seriously. During close "games," studying was actually fun.

On this particular Thursday night, it was not a close competition. Oliver and I were going over Transfiguration notes from our fifth year. Oliver hadn't cared much about the material two years previously. That night, he cared about ten times less.

"Which spell would you use to turn water into glass?" I asked, looking down into the old Transfiguration book.

"Um…" Oliver said. He sighed dramatically. "The I Don't Give a Flying Broomstick Spell."

"Close. The Crystallizing Spell," I said, looking up from the book.

Oliver smiled. "How was my answer close?"

"Because I don't give a flying broomstick about the Crystallizing Spell, either," I said, closing the textbook and dropping it on the floor. I leaned further back into the small sofa Oliver and I were sitting on, which was facing one of the many corners of the common room.

"We have to keep studying like this for almost two more weeks," I said, closing my eyes and bringing my hands up to my temples to try to get rid of the small headache my unpleasant thought gave me.

"Yes. And then there's the week of taking the tests by day and studying at night," Oliver said.

My headache got a bit worse. "Thanks for that little piece of optimism," I said, laughing and taking my hands away from my head.

"Sorry. I never liked Transfiguration," Oliver said, leaning into the sofa as well and looking at the wall.

"Then why did you take it after O.W.L.s?" I asked.

"It's required in order to work at the Ministry, as are Potions and Defense, or I probably wouldn't be taking those either."

"I like Defense," I said.

"I do, too, this year, but we've never had a decent teacher before."

"Lockhart was rather amusing," I said.

Oliver laughed. "All of the girls seemed to think so."

I grinned. "All right, then… what classes would you have taken by choice, then?"

"The easiest ones I could," Oliver said, honestly. "Muggles Studies (which I am taking), Divination, Care of Magical Creatures…."

"Those aren't required to work at the Ministry?" I asked.

"Muggles Studies is. And Charms. I actually like those classes."

I watched Oliver carefully for a few seconds. "It's your worst nightmare, isn't it?" I asked quietly.

"What is?"

"Working for the Ministry."

Oliver raised his eyebrows in surprise. "No, of course not. My dad works there. Half of my relatives do."

"So?"

"So…." Oliver sighed. "It's not my worst nightmare."

I smiled sympathetically. "Well… you won't be working at the Ministry, so it doesn't matter."

Oliver smiled back. "I hope you're right."

"I will be." I bent down, picked the Transfiguration textbook up off the floor, and turned so I was leaning up against the arm of the sofa. "Unfortunately, even if being a Keeper doesn't require a good N.E.W.T. in Transfiguration, working for the Prophet does, so we'd best get back to it." I handed him the book.

Oliver opened the book compliantly and starting flipping through the pages to find where we'd left off. As he was searching, there was a sudden decline in the noise level of the room. One moment, there was the sound of quiet conversations and quills scratching on parchment, and the next moment, almost complete silence.

Oliver noticed the silence, too, and the two of us shifted so that we could look over the back of the sofa to see the rest of the common room. It wasn't hard to spot what had grabbed everyone's attention. Tara was standing by the fireplace with her hand in Adam's. He was down on one knee, a jewelry box in his other hand.

I was too far away to hear Adam's words. He didn't speak long. As soon as he stopped, Tara started nodding quickly. Adam slipped the ring on her finger, and the Gryffindors in the common room clapped and whistled loudly while laughing. Oliver and I were no exceptions. It would have been impossible not to show our happiness for our two friends.

"Did you know he was going to propose?" I asked, after Tara and Adam left the common room to escape from everyone's attention.

"Yes, but not when or where he'd do it."

We sat back down on the couch in the way it's meant to be sat upon. I reached out and put my hand in Oliver's.

"That was so cute," I said, unable not to get girly over the scene.

Oliver laughed. "I think he should have done it in the Great Hall."

"That would have been kind of embarrassing for Tara," I said, knowing Adam wouldn't have been embarrassed by the stunt.

"Exactly," Oliver said, laughing even more.

I laughed, too, though I felt a little guilty for thinking it would have been entertaining to see Adam propose to shy Tara in front of the majority of the school.

"Mark tried to talk him out of it when he told us about proposing and showed us the ring," Oliver said.

"Was Mark serious?"

"It's hard to tell sometimes. He gave both serious and comical reasons why Adam shouldn't get engaged this early."

"If he gave any serious reasons, then he was serious," I said. "He was probably just a little afraid of losing his best friend."

"I guess it's possible," Oliver said.

"But you don't think so."

"I think if it is possible for one friend not to be threatened by his best friend getting married, then Mark and Adam would probably be the two most likely to fit that bill."

"What was Mark worried about then? That Adam wasn't marrying the right girl?"

Oliver laughed, and I knew why, though he told me anyway. "Adam and Tara have only dated each other. They've known half of their lives that the other was the 'right one', even before they knew what that really meant. Everyone, and especially Mark, would say that eventually Adam and Tara should get married."

"Eventually," I agreed. "Seventeen does seem very young to get engaged."

"Mark mentioned that," Oliver said.

I smiled, thinking I'd correctly guessed Mark's misgiving.

"But Mark knows better than that. Most of the people in his family are wizards."

"What does that have to do with anything?" I asked, getting a little defensive, as I did fairly often when people starting talking about blood.

"So Mark knows that wizards consider it perfectly normal to get married young," Oliver said, good-naturedly. "Muggles, I believe, tend to believe that young people who get married are forced into it by… circumstances."

I laughed. "Circumstances?"

"Pregnancies and whatnot," he said.

"Well… that's not entirely true. It's not entirely untrue, but sometimes Muggles get married young because they want to, Oliver."

"Yes, but it's still unexpected. It's not unexpected for young wizards to marry. It's perfectly acceptable, no questions about 'circumstances' asked."

I laughed again. "All right, then, why is Mark so worried about Adam and Tara if it's perfectly acceptable for the two to marry young?"

Oliver shrugged a little. "He brought up several things. The two don't have much money to start a life together with—"

"Tara's family has plenty of money," I interrupted.

"Yes, but I'm sure Adam and Tara won't want to rely on that. Adam and Tara both want to work. They have careers that they need to focus on."

"I'm sure they'll work for a while before marrying," I said, smiling. "I'm not worried about them. They'll make it work, even while working and with little money."

"Yes," Oliver agreed, confidently, but perhaps a little unenthusiastically.

"Think they're afraid?" I asked after several seconds.

"Undoubtedly."

"Even Adam?"

"Adam's a little naïve, but even he knows that it's a big decision, Laura."

"I know that," I said. "I just mean, Adam makes a decision and doesn't worry about it much."

"I think marriage is enough to strike fear in any man."

I laughed. "Why is that?"

"The same reasons it scares women, once they look past all of the romantic notions surrounding the idea, I think," Oliver said. "It's one of those decisions that shapes your entire life, even if the marriage doesn't last a lifetime. Doesn't that kind of choice always make people wonder if they are making the right decision, or what would happen if they were to choose differently?"

"I guess." I thought for a minute. "I think, even if the decision to get married is terrifying, maybe it takes a little fear out of life, too. I mean… you wouldn't have to be afraid of being alone. You wouldn't have to worry as much about what you look like."

Oliver interrupted me with a laugh. "Guess you aren't planning on being a trophy wife."

I laughed, too. "Oliver, we both know that I'm not qualified to be a trophy wife."

Oliver didn't respond, and I felt bad for putting him in a position where he couldn't safely say anything without pissing me off.

"I think having a trophy husband sounds much more appealing than being a trophy wife," I said, grinning to show that I wasn't serious.

Oliver smiled and shook his head. "You'd find him boring."

"Yes," I admitted, making sure I sounded disappointed. "Just as well, I guess. I could never afford a trophy husband on what the Prophet pays. Of course, that's only if the Prophet agrees to pay me at all, so…." I bent down, picked up the Transfiguration book off the floor, and handed it to Oliver.

Oliver sighed, but started flipping through pages in the Transfiguration book again. We had already lost too much studying time that evening as it was. (For the record, I slaughtered Oliver in our studying competition that night, correctly answering more than three times as many questions as he did.)

The next morning at breakfast was the first time all of the Seventh Year Gryffindors (minus Percy) were together after the engagement. Adam and Tara were floating on air, receiving congratulations and best wishes from students from different houses. The rest of us Gryffindors had already congratulated them ten times over, and had quickly reached the point where we couldn't congratulate them anymore without appearing as if we didn't mean it.

By about halfway through breakfast, most of Adam and Tara's friends from other houses had already come up to talk to the couple, and our normal group was left alone. When Oliver and I began dating, the group dynamic stayed about the same. As far as the group was concerned, there wasn't much of a difference between Oliver and I dating and the two of us being best friends. There was a difference between Adam and Tara dating and Adam and Tara being engaged to be married, and everyone in the group felt it. We all knew there was going to be a bit of awkwardness until someone brought the subject up, so, of course, Adam did.

And, being Adam, he got straight to the point. "We're really growing up, aren't we?"

We all agreed in our own ways. I nodded. Oliver half-smiled. Rose laughed a bit. Tara looked sad, and the rest verbally agreed with the statement.

"It's hard to believe that in a little over three weeks, we'll all graduate, especially considering how long we've spent here," Joan said.

"I hardly remember life before Hogwarts. It seems almost like someone else lived that life before I came here," Tara agreed.

"Merlin, in another four weeks, I'm going to be working at Gringotts," Cedar said, grimacing at the though. I wasn't sure what pained her more: the idea of working at Gringotts or the idea of working. Cedar wasn't sure yet what she really wanted to do, so her father (who worked for the Ministry of Magic in Goblin Liaisons) had gotten her a temporary job at the bank.

"Yeah, and I'll be interviewing for the Ministry," Rose said.

"Me, too," said Mark. I was a little surprised that the idea of working for the Ministry didn't bother Mark as it did Oliver. Overall, Mark seemed too sarcastic to take orders from people and too fun to be in such a boring area of work. However, the idea of working his way up through the chain of command appealed to him.

"I'll be training to be a Healer," Joan said. She'd been accepted to the University of Healing and Magical Medicines months ago, with her excellent grades and Prefect title. I hoped she'd enter the wizarding equivalent of psychology, but she was set on becoming a midwife. She would work through St. Mungo's, but most children were delivered in homes.

"I shall be acting," Adam said, dramatically.

"You hope," Mark said, good-naturedly.

Adam laughed. "I'll do Muggle theater, if I have to." He paused. "Even Shakespeare."

"I'll be at the Daily Prophet, I hope," I said.

"And I hope I'll be playing Quidditch."

"And I'll be learning the family business, so I can take over for my aunt when she retires," Tara said. She said it as if it were nothing, but Tara would likely be the most successful of all of us. Her aunt (and mother) were daughters of Alexander Blotts, cofounder of Flourish and Blotts.

"We'll be all over the place, won't we?" Joan asked, sadly. "We won't get to see each other often."

"Well… we'll all get together at the wedding," Adam said. "Of course… that will be at least a year from now."

"There's New Year's before that," Oliver said, smiling reassuringly across the table at Joan.

"And we can always keep in touch through owl post," Tara added.

"Still won't be the same, will it?" Cedar said. "Not living in the same place. All doing our own things with other people."

"There are always weekends," Mark said hopefully.

"That's when Quidditch matches are," Oliver said.

"And shows," Adam added.

"Stores don't close on weekends," Tara said softly.

"And the Prophet's biggest paper comes out on Sunday," I said.

"So much for that," Mark said before anyone else could rule out weekend get-togethers.

We sat in silence, eating eggs and toast, the reality of graduation hitting us. Yes, there would be perhaps a few times a year when it was possible for the whole group to be together, but our relationships would all have to be on a more one-on-one level if they were going to continue. I wondered what this would mean for my friendships with people in the group I wasn't as close to, such as Rose and Mark. We got along well while with everyone, but what were the odds we would go out of our way to see each other?

Joan seemed to be having similar thoughts. "We all have to promise that we will keep in touch through owl post, at the very least," Joan said suddenly. "All of us, with everyone."

All of us quickly promised that we would do this. Time would be the only thing that would tell whether we meant our promise, or if we were just trying to reassure Joan.

"I still can't believe you two are officially getting married in a year," Mark said, turning to Adam, who was sitting next to him.

Adam smiled and took Tara's hand. "We don't know when exactly, but we're planning for it being about a year after we get our careers moving along."

"Good idea," Oliver said.

Tara nodded. "It's mainly for Adam, of course. So he can make a name for himself."

Adam laughed. "It would be easier to make a name for myself with the Blotts' name connected to my own."

Tara laughed, too, and turned to the rest of us. "That's what he's trying to avoid, of course, but he won't say that in front of me."

"What do you mean?" Rose asked.

"He means that he wants to make a name for himself on his own, without any help that being tied to my family might possibly offer… although I think he's overestimating how much that connection would help him."

All of us decided that there was no purpose in pointing out that the Blotts family donated a great deal of money to the arts, since all of us knew this anyway. I didn't blame Adam for wanting to succeed on his own merits—merits all of us knew he had based on his ability to perfectly mock us (not cruelly) whenever he wanted.

"Well, I can't wait for the ceremony," Joan said, beaming. "I absolutely love weddings. I hope there will be even more soon," she said, casting a meaningful glance at Oliver and me.

I blushed and looked away from her quickly. I felt Oliver shift in his seat a little, but he laughed.

"Well, it should be only a matter of time before Dave and Cedar decide to get married," Oliver said, turning the focus away from the two of us, which I was grateful for.

Cedar laughed. "The two of us can't even decide on careers. Do you think we're going to make a decision like marriage right out of Hogwarts? So I guess Joan will just have to set her hopes on Laura and Oliver."

I blushed even more furiously and looked down at my plate. Oliver shifted in his seat again.

"We've only been dating for a couple of months," I said.

"Well, no one said you had to get married any time soon," Rose said.

"I still need to do a bit of Transfiguration, I think," I said, standing up.

"We haven't had homework in a week," Adam said.

"Yes, but N.E.W.T.s are coming up very quickly," I said. "I could use the extra half hour of studying."

"I think I'll come, too," Oliver said, standing as well.

The two of us fled the Great Hall and started to make our way up to the library.

"We're too young to get married, even if wizards don't think so," I said quickly.

Oliver laughed a little. "They were just giving us a hard time."

I looked over at him and grinned. "You were just as fast to run away from it as I was."

"Yeah," Oliver agreed. "The whole conversation was uncomfortable. I don't like to think about us all leaving here."

"I don't either."

"Then let's not think about it, and go for a walk before Defense," Oliver said, smiling.

I agreed, pretty sure that I wasn't going to have many opportunities in the next two weeks to do anything but study, eat and sleep. I was proven correct, and even though I'd been expecting two horrible weeks, I was unprepared for the hell we Seventh Years went through. The professors seemed to decide that there was no longer any point in covering new material, so lessons turned into massive review sessions. These lessons were either boring or terrifying: boring if we were reviewing information I'd already gone over on my own, and terrifying if we were reviewing spells I barely remembered existed. If lessons were bad enough, time outside of class was worse. Seventh Years studied at almost all times during the day. It became harder to navigate the halls because Seventh Years were sitting there in between lessons, trying to cram even more information into their brains. Our year was so bad about this that Filch actually added "No studying" to his list of things forbidden in the corridors. (Professor Dumbledore made him remove the rule due to the distress it was causing Seventh Years.) About the only times that most Seventh Years stopped studying were while sleeping and eating.

By the final weekend before exams started, we started bringing books to the Great Hall, so we could read during meals. And, for the first time since I'd befriended Oliver, I started feeling very lonely again. Oliver and I had stopped quizzing each other because we both needed to focus on different parts of each subject. Even though we were usually sitting right next to each other while studying, we might as well have been in different buildings. When we spoke, it was about N.E.W.T.s and their importance. When we didn't speak, it was because of N.E.W.T.s and their importance. It should have worried me that neither one of us saw anything wrong with this. We were both focused on doing well so we could be more certain of our futures.

Finally, the dreaded tests arrived. I remember very little about the tests themselves. Written tests were in the morning, practicals were in the afternoons, and we stayed up cramming for the next tests late into the nights. After each day, my mood improved more and more. I was confident I was doing well and could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Immediately after tests started, our group of friends started acting more normally. Mark and Adam started goofing around during book-free meals again. Joan stopped taking points away from younger students for talking in the common room. Cedar and Rose started spending a little time out of Gryffindor Tower to see Dave and Flint. And Oliver and I spent an hour or so in the evenings relaxing together.

He seemed more withdrawn than normal, but I wrote it off as being caused by stress from the end of the school year. On Wednesday evening, I found him by the fire in the common room reading a letter, which he put away quickly when he noticed me.

"Letter from your other girlfriend?" I asked, grinning.

"No," Oliver said, smiling. "Just from Mum," he added.

"Then what are you trying to hide it for?"

He laughed. "Would you want anyone reading a letter from your mum?"

It was a good enough argument that, whether he was telling the truth or not, I thought it best to drop the subject. We took a short walk, and Oliver seemed happy enough, though perhaps a bit preoccupied.

I might have paid more attention to Oliver's behavior, but I was distracted by Percy's. Percy hadn't talked to me since our fight in Potions. (Granted, he'd had few opportunities to break his silence. He was usually in the library studying, and we were too busy to bicker during class.) I'd thoroughly expected his silent treatment to continue for the rest of the school year. So, I was shocked when he nodded and said, "Hello," pleasantly enough as Oliver and I passed him while entering the common room to start studying again.

"Hello," Oliver said, not paying much attention.

I stopped and turned to watch Percy turn into the hallway leading to the rest of the castle. "He said 'hello'. To us. Nicely."

Oliver, who'd gone into the common room, turned and paused before answering. "Percy? Yeah, I guess he did."

I faced Oliver again. "But why?"

Oliver shrugged. "Maybe he's not angry anymore."

I nodded, stupidly, and joined Oliver in the common room, which the Fat Lady sarcastically thanked me for.

The next day, I walked into the Great Hall for breakfast alone as Percy was walking out.

"Morning," he said, still walking.

"Percy?" I said, turning to watch him go.

He stopped walking, turned around and waited.

"How are your exams going?" I asked, grasping for something to say.

"Well. Yours?"

"Same."

"Good," he said.

"Yes," I agreed. I struggled to think of something to say to extend the conversation. "I'll be glad when they're over."

"Yes."

"How's your family?" I asked.

"Alive."

I smiled. Since our First Year, I'd always asked him that question when he'd gotten letters from home. He'd always given the same answer, even after Dan died, when the answer 'alive' meant something to both of us.

"Good," I said.

"Yes. Well… I'll see you around, Laura."

I nodded, thrilled that Percy was speaking to me at all, yet a bit sad that even this simple conversation felt so forced. Percy walked out of the Great Hall, and I joined the rest of my friends at the table.

"That was weird," Adam said to me, jerking his head toward where I'd been talking to Percy.

"Yeah," I agreed. "I'm not sure what's gotten into him."

"An alien," Adam said.

We all laughed and then started our new morning routine of speculating on the next N.E.W.T.

Nothing changed during the rest of the week except the number of tests left to take. At last, after our Potions practical exam, Hell Week ended to much cheering, laughing and drinking (The butterbeer and firewhiskey were compliments of Fred and George Weasley, who were Fifth Years and had just finished their O.W.L.s.) in the common room.

"Here's to the end of exams!" Adam said for the sixth or seventh time, raising his firewhiskey into the air.

"To the end of exams!" the rest of us yelled, raising glasses as well. The Sixth Years joining us seemed just as happy as the Fifth and Seventh Years, but it probably had to do with the drinks and the nearness of summer vacation.

"Here's to graduating and never taking another bloody test again!" Adam said.

"To graduation!" the Seventh Years cheered.

"To no more homework!" Mark said.

"To no more Prefect duties!" Joan called out.

"To no more Snape, that son of a bludger!" Cedar said, thrusting her glass into the air with so much force, some butterbeer slopped out over the edge of her cup.

"To no more Snape!" the Seventh Years (and some others) echoed.

I laughed and looked over to Oliver, who was standing beside me. He was raising his glass and smiling, but he looked far away.

"You OK?" I asked.

He snapped back to reality. "Fine," he said.

"Sure? You've seemed strange all week."

"I'm fine," he repeated.

"To Adam and the theater!" Mark said, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulder, making me wonder exactly how much alcohol was in butterbeer and firewhiskey. Adam took Mark into a quick hug, patting him on the back.

"To Mark and the Ministry!" Adam said after releasing Mark so they could both raise glasses. "And to Rose and Percy, too!"

Percy nodded from across the room to accept the gesture. He'd joined in the celebration at first, but had left when the drinks started taking effect. Perhaps not completely breaking up the party was celebration enough for Percy.

"And to Oliver for making Puddlemere!" Adam said.

"To Oliver!" I joined in with the others.

"And Tara and Flourish and Blotts!" Adam continued.

"Puddlemere?" I asked, understanding what had been said. "You made Puddlemere United?" I said, turning to Oliver.

He looked guilty. "Not officially."

"What do you mean?"

"I still have to try out, but the coach wrote me and said I had a great chance of making the reserve team," he said quickly.

"Oliver, that's great!" I said, throwing my arms around him.

Oliver returned the hug, but slowly and with only one arm. I noticed and considered it strange, but it didn't phase me much.

"Puddlemere! And you won't have to work for the Ministry!" Why didn't you tell me you'd made it? When did you find out?" I said.

"Tuesday," he said simply.

"Tuesday?" I asked, stepping back. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Oliver looked a little to my right instead of right at me. "I just wanted some time to think about it."

"Did you get any other offers?"

"No."

"Then what's there to think about?" I asked, grinning.

Oliver didn't answer. My smile disappeared slowly. Finally, I gathered enough nerve to repeat my question.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" Oliver, looking into my eyes, asked instead of telling me what he had to think about.

"No," I said, starting to feel a sinking sensation in my stomach.

Oliver didn't say anything for several seconds—enough time for Adam and Mark to toast a few random younger people (whom Percy would not allow to join in the party) in the common room.

"To the funny looking kid with glasses in the corner!" Adam said.

"Adam, that's Harry Potter," Tara whispered.

"To Harry Potter and his funny glasses!" Adam said, even louder.

"To Harry Potter!" yelled the group.

"All right, let's go," I said, wanting to get away from the noise. I led Oliver out of the common room, into the small hallway near Gryffindor, and to the window that looked out over the lake. We could still hear noise coming from the common room, but now I could think.

"Oliver, what's wrong?" I asked, turning my back on the view the window offered, so I could watch Oliver.

"Laura…." He looked down at his shoes.

"Just tell me," I said impatiently.

"I have to focus on Quidditch."

I tried to make sense of this but failed. "Yes, I know."

Oliver must have taken some encouragement from my comment. He looked up again, though he looked out the window. "Then you know why I have to stop seeing you?" he asked.

Part of me had been expecting this, but it was still a blow. It took me a minute, which I spent closing my eyes, to recover. "What do you mean?" I asked, opening my eyes again.

Oliver had turned his gaze back to me. He sighed. "I have to put everything into this, Laura. I get to play for Puddlemere… a professional team. It's been generations since anyone in my family has had this chance right out of Hogwarts. It's what I've always wanted."

"So?" I asked bluntly.

"So I have to give Quidditch two hundred percent of me," he said, and I could tell he had prepared that line before we'd started the conversation. "Just like you'll have to give two hundred percent of yourself to the Daily Prophet. And if I'm giving all of my attention to Quidditch, and you're giving all of your efforts to the paper, then—"

"Then we'll understand that there will be less time for each other for a while," I interrupted, unwilling to hear the rest of his script.

"And what's the point of that?" he asked.

"The point of what?" I asked angrily.

"In continuing this when we should be focusing on our careers!"

I was floored again. "We can still focus on our careers and—"

"I can't," he interrupted.

"You can't play Quidditch and have relationships that mean anything?" I asked impatiently. "I suppose the people in your life have to wait until Quidditch season is over."

"No."

"What then? You want to see other people and are using Quidditch—"

"I don't want to see other people."

"Then what is your problem?"

"The problem is that when I got the letter telling me I have an excellent chance of getting what I've worked for for years, I thought of you! Every time I thought about Puddlemere, I thought about what it would mean for us."

"So?" I asked, seeing absolutely no problems in what he'd said.

"I can't focus on Quidditch while I'm constantly trying to balance it with you," he said, looking away again.

"I'm not asking you to balance it with me. I have never tried to get in the way—"

"You've always tried to tell me there's more to me than Quidditch."

"Because there is!"

"And now I don't want there to be! I want to succeed, Laura. I don't just want to be a reserve player. I want to be the Keeper. Maybe someday the captain or coach."

"I want you to succeed. I want to succeed, too. But there will always be more than work, Oliv—"

"Quidditch is my life."

"Quidditch is a sport," I spat. "A game. It's crazy to—"

"Just because you don't understand doesn't make it crazy," he said, looking at me without turning his head.

"You're right," I said, forcing calm into my voice. "It's unfair to say that everyone who is obsessed with Quidditch is crazy. What I meant was that you're crazy."

"I am not—"

"Will you listen to yourself? You want nothing in your life but Quidditch, so you're throwing away the one thing in your life you feel might actually compete with it!" I said, not even trying to hide my resentment.

"I'm trying to make sure that nothing interferes with my focus on my career," Oliver said impatiently.

"Then what was the point in the last two months, Oliver? What was the point in starting something if you were just going to end it once Quidditch season started again?"

"I didn't plan this," he said.

"I see. Now I don't fit in with your plan. When Quidditch was just a dream you needed someone else to believe in, did I fit in with your plan?" I asked coldly. I'd meant it to be a harsh blow, and it worked. Before this point, he really had looked sorry; now, a wall went up.

"I told you months ago, during Wizards and Warlocks, that I wouldn't let anything get in the way of what I wanted. You knew all along what Quidditch means to me."

"So it's my fault," I said. "I'm the crazy one for actually believing that I meant something to you, too."

His wall broke down a little. "You do mean something to me, Laura," he said sincerely.

"But not enough," I said.

"Too much," he said quietly. "I can't completely focus on Quidditch because you mean too much to me."

His argument didn't make sense, and everything in me knew that he was making a mistake. Yet what could I do? What logical argument could I make against thoughts that were so illogical? Or maybe my feelings were making me illogical. I stood there, shaking my head slowly, starting to feel as if I were going to cry. He'd seen me cry before, but not because of anything he'd done, and I was unwilling to let that change. I didn't want him to see I cared as much as he claimed he cared. 'Too much.'

Too much. "Just not enough," I said.

I stepped away from the window, walked around Oliver and headed back for the common room. I didn't want to go back there, but curfew had passed, and I didn't trust myself to wander around the castle and pay enough attention to get back to Gryffindor.

"Laura, I'm sorry," Oliver called before I left the short hallway.

That's just not enough, I thought. I didn't think I could say it aloud without my voice breaking, so instead I turned the corner without looking back.

_Author's Note:_

I'm sorry! I really am! This has been part of the story for as long as I can remember, which was before I ever thought anyone but me would read the story. Part of me wanted to take this out because I knew readers wouldn't like it, but that would be untrue to the story… and to Oliver's character. Again, this chapter wasn't written to torture readers. The story up to this point has been leading to this chapter, and this chapter is necessary for the rest of the plot.

Preview for the next chapter: In the days before graduation, one conversation solves some of Laura's problems. Another conversation (with someone she never expected to identify with) makes Laura realize what caused most of the conflicts in her life… and answers a question posed near the beginning of the story. (Don't you love cryptic chapter previews?)


	13. Begin with a Farewell

**Chapter 13: Begin with a Farewell**

I climbed into the common room while looking at the ceiling with my eyes wide open to prevent tears from falling down my face. All I had to do was get through the common room and into the staircase leading up to my dormitory without crying. After a few awkward steps into the common room, I realized my odds of making it to my dormitory at all would be considerably better if I watched where I was going.

The party was still going strong in the middle of the room. Some people were dancing, though there was no music that I was aware of. Adam noticed me and raised his glass into the air.

"To Laura Debman and the Daily Prophet!" he shouted.

The others in the group echoed him, raised their drinks, and looked over in my direction. I couldn't force myself to smile, but I could nod in their direction. The group didn't seem to notice anything was wrong, and they went back to their celebrating.

I hurried through the common room, thinking about how lucky I was that most of the people in the room were too drunk or too happy to notice that Oliver and I had left together and that I had entered alone, near tears. I opened the door to the dormitories and closed it as quickly as I could without slamming the door and drawing attention to myself.

I let out a sob before I could even face the stairway again. The noise surprised me. I had usually done my crying quietly in the middle of the night so none of the girls would know I was upset. I'd gotten so good at crying silently that I usually didn't make much noise even when I wasn't trying to hide my emotions. I tried to remember the last time I'd cried enough to make a sound. It was when Oliver had shown me the room in the Quidditch stadium full of golden snitches, and I had told him about the morning Dan died. The memory was hardly comforting, and I started crying even more.

I practically ran up the stairs, trying to reach the safety of my room without running into anyone. Unfortunately, I paid for the luck I'd just had in the common room.

"Laura, is that you?" Rose asked.

"Yes," I answered, trying to move past her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, letting me pass but following me up the stairs.

I didn't answer. Finally, I reached the dormitory. I didn't try to prevent Rose from following me. Instead, I walked over to my bed, jumped onto it, and drew the curtain around me.

Rose had drawn back the curtain before I'd even fallen face down into my pillow.

"Laura, what happened?"

I pressed my face harder into the pillow, trying to stop the crying, which was only making things worse.

"Do you want me to go get Joan?" Rose asked awkwardly.

"No," I said quickly, which forced me to lift my head off the pillow. "Don't get Joan. Just leave me alone."

I started to lower my head into the pillow again, but Rose caught my shoulder and pulled back on it, making it almost impossible to hide my face. I sat up gracelessly, letting my legs hang over the side of the bed. I put my elbows on my thighs and covered my eyes with my palms, pressing into my eyes to see if that would stop my crying. Instead, my eyes watered even more and spots of purple and green lights filled my vision.

"If you don't want me to get Joan, then tell me what's wrong," Rose said simply.

Quickly, I weighed what would be worse: telling Rose, who was never one to outwardly show much compassion, or telling Joan, who would show nothing but compassion. I realized it would probably be easier to deal with Rose's lack of emotions than to add Joan's emotions to my own.

"We broke up," I said quickly. I let out a short laugh, which probably sounded like a severe sob to Rose. "I can't believe I'm one of those girls who weeps uncontrollably when her boyfriend breaks up with her." I brought my hands away from my face to give Rose a feeble smile. "I hate those kinds of girls."

Rose smiled back, obviously relieved I had attempted even a pathetic joke. "I hate those girls, too."

"Yes, well, you're unlikely to end up being one," I said, sitting up straight. I was still crying, but there was little point in trying to prevent Rose from seeing it anymore.

"Just because none of you like Flint doesn't mean that I can't love him like you love Oliver," Rose snapped.

I looked up at her again, so surprised that I stopped crying for several seconds. "I meant that you scare the hell out of him, and I doubt he could dump you."

"What makes you think he would want to?" she asked defensively.

"I… I don't," I stammered. "I was only kidding."

Rose visibly relaxed. "I'm sorry, Laura. You're upset, and here I am attacking you."

I completely agreed with that statement, but I thought it wouldn't help anything to say so. Plus, Rose had just said something that had taken my attention away from Oliver momentarily. "You love Flint?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Rose didn't say anything right away. She looked at me carefully, as if deciding whether she should take my question personally. "Don't tell the others I said that," she said, finally. "They might drop their supportive act, not that I've been buying it."

"I won't tell them," I said.

I let out another short laugh, which I'm sure Rose thought was a sob. She made a face and took a tiny step back.

"I probably won't even have a chance to tell them now," I said miserably.

"Why not?"

"He broke up with me, Rose," I said.

"So? That doesn't mean the rest of us stop being your friends."

I didn't respond, but that was answer enough for Rose.

She laughed. "Did you think we only tolerate your company for Oliver's sake?"

"No," I said honestly. "I just thought you'd all take his side."

"There are sides?"

I thought about this. "No. I guess not. Not anymore."

"Then you'll have a chance to tell the others I love Marcus. Granted, if you do, I might curse you in your sleep," she said pleasantly enough.

"I won't tell them," I promised again.

"Good. Well, I'm going to go back downstairs. I only came up here to get my cloak before going to see Marcus. It's rather cold down in the dungeons. Sure you wouldn't like me to get Joan?"

"I'm positive," I said quickly.

"I don't blame you. I only threatened you with that so I could make sure no one was dead or dying."

I forced a small smile. "Everyone's fine."

"I'll leave you, then," Rose said, walking over to the door. She opened it and walked into the hallway. "I'm sorry he broke up with you, Laura."

I nodded. "Thanks."

She shut the door quietly, and I laid down on my back, letting tears run down the sides of my face whenever they pleased. No more sobbing. No more noise. Back to my silent way of expressing grief.

I fell asleep wishing I could be celebrating the end of N.E.W.T.s with my friends and wondering whether Oliver was upset or if he was in the common room having a good time. I woke up when the girls came in for the night. I knew it must be quite late, but I didn't check the time. I had fallen asleep with the curtains around my bed open, so I had to lay still with my eyes closed to convince the others I was sleeping. I had no desire to talk to them and assure them I was fine.

"Poor thing," Joan whispered as the girls got changed into their pajamas.

"He didn't look much better," Tara whispered.

"No, but it was his fault," Cedar said quietly, speaking aloud what I was thinking.

"Think they'll make up?" Tara asked.

"Maybe. They have before," Joan said.

"He's an idiot," Rose said.

Cedar laughed as quietly as she could.

"He is," Rose continued. "Breaking up with her so he can focus on Quidditch, he said. We should have talked some sense into him."

"I'm sure she already tried," Tara said.

"Anyway, when has Oliver ever listened to sense where Laura was concerned?" Joan asked.

"Fair point," Cedar said.

"Know what I think?" Joan asked. She didn't wait for a response. "I think he liked her when we were kids, whether he knew it or not, and that's why he took it so personally when she sided with Percy."

"I think he would have taken that personally anyway," Cedar said.

"I really wanted to go to their wedding," Joan said, sadly.

"We know," Cedar said, "and I don't think Oliver appreciated you telling him that."

It took a lot of self-control not to laugh. I had made sure my breathing was deep and slow while they were talking. Fortunately, the girls were all climbing into bed and didn't notice that I was holding my breath to avoid betraying my eavesdropping.

The girls said good night to each other. I tried to go back to sleep, but my thoughts kept me awake. Of course, I wondered whether Joan's suspicions about why Oliver had taken it so badly when I'd taken Percy's side were true. I decided that Cedar was right—he'd have taken that badly whether he'd thought of me as a friend or as more than a friend. Or less, even.

I decided that I had no chance of falling asleep again anytime soon. I listened carefully for a few minutes, and as far as I could tell, all of the girls were sleeping soundly. I got out of bed quietly and left the room to go down and sit in front of the fire, as I often did in the morning.

It was very late (or very early), so I expected the room to be empty. I was quite surprised to find one person that hadn't gone upstairs yet. I started to go back upstairs, but Percy spoke first.

"I thought you'd come downstairs a hell of a lot earlier than three o'clock," he said. He was sitting in front of the fire, on the sofa that I considered "my" spot.

"I wasn't planning on coming down at all. I couldn't sleep."

"Me either, so I decided to come wait for you. Come sit down."

I did, sitting on the right hand cushion because it was the nearest one. Percy was sitting in the middle of the sofa. He watched me while I moved a bit to get comfortable.

"Why'd you wait?" I asked, to break the silence.

"To make sure you're OK."

"I'm OK."

"Laura, we've both spent quite a few nights in the common room at three a.m., but it was never because we were OK."

I looked at Percy carefully. He hadn't looked away since I sat down. He appeared to be tired and sad, and it reminded me of how he'd looked during our fourth year, when I would find him in the common room thinking about his brother. Except he'd never looked at me then, and he'd never admitted anything was wrong.

"I should have told you about Dan and me," I said.

Percy winced slightly at the name but showed no further sign of pain. "I already knew."

"I didn't know you knew."

"I should have told you that I knew," he said.

I nodded. "I was really angry with you for that."

Percy smiled a bit, but without humor. "I gathered as much during that Potions class."

"I didn't know that's why I was so angry until that class. But it was just as much my fault as yours that I didn't know you knew I dated Dan."

"Then you aren't angry now?"

"No."

Percy paused. "You should be. You were always there for me, and I should have been there for you, too. I just… wasn't sure I could be."

"I know," I said, choking back tears. "I wasn't sure you could be either, so I never told you. Oliver thinks it helped me to be there for you, and he's probably right."

"That's still no excuse, and I am sorry," Percy said.

I nodded, starting to cry for what seemed like the one hundredth time that day. "It's OK, Percy."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, watching what remained of the fire.

"I heard the two of you broke up," Percy said.

"You can say 'I told you so'," I said, wiping away tears. And Percy had told me so, warning me that Oliver would only break my heart.

"I only said that because I didn't think it was true," Percy said.

"You're only saying that now to be nice."

"Not true," Percy said, shaking his head. "I would never say anything nice about Oliver."

I laughed, not in much of a mood to defend Oliver.

Percy smiled, as he usually did when he made me laugh. I was one of the only people who seemed to understand his sense of humor.

"No, I never really thought he'd break your heart, Laura, and that's why I was so angry."

"I don't understand."

Percy sighed, not fond of discussing his own feelings. "We were all friends. Then, after that whole ordeal our second year, you chose my side. That always made it seem as if I'd won. Sure, Oliver got Quidditch, more friends, and eventually captain of the Quidditch team, but you chose my side, so I was the winner. So, when you told me you loved him… I guess it was as if you were changing sides, and he'd beaten me all along."

"I still wanted to be your friend. That's why I told you the truth about Oliver and me right away."

"But, when I made you choose, you chose him."

"That had nothing to do with the fight our second year. You hadn't been treating me well."

"I know," Percy said. "One more thing I owe you an apology for."

"You already apologized for putting Penelope ahead of me. And I put Oliver ahead of you. So we're even."

"OK. On that one, we're even." He paused. "Penelope and I broke up, you know?"

I looked away from the fire and at Percy again. "No. I didn't know. When?"

"Tuesday."

"I didn't hear."

"Yes, well, the gossip isn't as good about the Head Boy as it is about the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain."

"What happened?" I asked, ignoring his sarcasm. "I thought the two of you were in love."

"Yes, well, I thought the two of you were in love," Percy countered.

"Me, too," I said bitterly. "Unfortunately, Oliver is an idiot. He has this stupid idea that he won't be able to give enough to Quidditch if he's with me. He said a bunch of garbage about how he'd focus on me too much. As if I'd ever tried to do anything except support his Quidditch dreams."

"He broke up with you to focus on his career?" Percy asked strangely.

"I told you he was an idiot."

"He's not much of an idiot," Percy said.

"What?" I asked.

"I mean… it's a good idea for us all to focus on our careers. You'll be able to give more to the Prophet, too," Percy continued quickly.

"Are you standing up for Oliver?" I asked. "Now?" I added angrily, wondering why Oliver and Percy chose the worst times to support each other.

"No," Percy said hastily. "I just think that…."

I shook my head slowly. "Unbelievable. You broke up with Penelope for the same reason."

Percy didn't answer.

"You are both so alike. As much as the two of you hate each other and like to think you're completely different people, you are both idiots."

"Penelope agreed that—"

"Then she's an idiot, too."

"We both wanted to succeed—"

"Idiots," I repeated.

"Call Wood whatever you'd like, but—"

"Just when I thought you were starting to become the friend I used to have."

"I never changed, Laura," Percy said. "You just finally saw what everyone else sees."

I'd intended to keep interrupting him, to give him a hard time because I couldn't say these things to Oliver. I hadn't expected Percy to take what I said quite so personally. Or literally.

"You have changed," I said quietly. "After the fight with Oliver, you became less social. After Dan died, you became even more focused on the future than you had been."

Percy didn't respond.

"And I always saw what everyone else saw. No one else looked for more."

Percy not only looked away, but looked as far away from me as he could.

"That's not true," I said. "Penelope probably saw more, too."

Percy nodded but didn't turn his head.

I sighed loudly and slumped further into the sofa. The fire was almost out, and it was rather cold in the common room. "Well..." I said, just to be saying something. "At least we're still friends. We've still got that, even if you and Oliver are complete idiots."

Percy laughed under his breath, turning to look back at the burning embers. "I never really realized how much of a difference one friendship makes until this week. I didn't have Penelope to talk to, and I didn't have you to talk to…."

"Is that why you started talking to me again this week?" I asked, not unkindly or defensively—just curiously.

"Probably," Percy admitted. "That, and I could finally understand how lonely you must have been when you befriended Oliver. So, I guess it was harder to blame you for choosing him. It was harder to stay angry."

"I understand. I think that's what made it easier for me to forgive Oliver." I started getting teary-eyes again, and it pissed me off. "Damn it, I cannot stop crying!"

Percy didn't answer. I looked intently straight ahead, blinking several times, doing my best not to cry even more. I was tired of crying. I was sad, yes, of course, but I was also mad at Oliver. Whenever I get mad enough, I cry, which invariably makes me even angrier, so I was losing my fight against my tears.

And Percy took my hand, gently but awkwardly at first. I looked down and couldn't help thinking it looked rather strange. I was used to seeing my hand surrounding his as much as my hand could cover his larger one. Seeing Percy's hand surrounding mine was the last straw, and I started crying normally, tears silently falling.

I leaned over so my head was resting against Percy's shoulder. He flinched at first, but he made no other objection, despite his warning two months earlier not to come crying to him when Oliver ended the relationship. After all, Percy said he hadn't really meant it. He didn't think it would happen.

I didn't think it would happen, either, I fully admitted to myself for the first time. I'd pictured Oliver and me together for the rest of our lives. It wasn't until I'd left Oliver by the window that I'd understood that breaking up meant forever wouldn't happen.

After several minutes, I stopped crying, feeling just as miserable about the break-up, but much better about my friendship with Percy. Wordlessly, Percy and I agreed that it was time to try to sleep again, and we stood and walked to our separate doors.

"See you in the morning," Percy said.

"Yes. Good night." I walked upstairs and went straight to bed, falling asleep in my clothes and shoes for the second time that night.

I slept in considerably later than I normally did, which was hardly later than most people slept when there were no classes. The bathroom was relatively empty, which I was thankful for because it meant there were less people to give me sympathetic looks. As I'd expected, news of Oliver breaking up with me had traveled fast. I decided it probably was a bad idea to have important conversations in the corridors, where ghosts and paintings (the backbone of Hogwarts' gossip chain) were. I decided I would have future conversations in classrooms, then remembered that in a couple of days, it would no longer matter.

I started walking down to the Great Hall alone for the first time in quite a while. I was brooding on this, feeling quite sorry for myself, when someone's voice interrupted my self-pity.

"'Lo, Laura."

I looked to my left to see that Penelope Clearwater had joined my previously lone trek to breakfast. I had to blink a few times, my brain not quite registering who my new companion was. Penelope and I had gotten used to not wanting much to do with each other: I partially blamed her for Percy ditching me, and she knew I partially blamed her.

"Hi, Penelope," I said, several seconds too late for it to sound natural.

"How'd your exams go?" she asked politely.

"Well. Yours?"

"Well. I don't mind tests much," she said.

It didn't surprise me that this Ravenclaw Head Girl didn't mind taking exams. It did surprise me she was insisting on carrying on small talk with me. There was a pause, which I couldn't help think seemed more awkward to Penelope than it did to me.

"I heard about you and Oliver," she said.

So that's what the small talk had really been about. Penelope felt bad for me. It took me a few seconds to realize I felt bad for her, too.

"Percy told me the two of you broke up, as well," I said. "Looks as if the two of us have quite a bit in common." I put as much humor in my statement as I could. I knew that neither of us expected to ever have much of anything in common with each other.

"Yes," Penelope agreed.

"Did you really agree with the whole 'focusing on our careers' argument?" I asked.

She thought a moment. "Yes." Another pause. "And no."

I smiled. "Then I apologize for calling you an idiot last night."

She returned the smile, and I could tell she'd thought of similar names for Percy.

"In some ways, the argument does make some sense, doesn't it? Shouldn't we all be focusing on our careers?"

"Yes," I admitted, "but the logic only really works if you say that one can only focus on one thing—that it's even possible to focus on one thing. People are always balancing things such as work, friends, family, hobbies, and so on."

"That's true," Penelope said.

"And who on Earth wants his life to be nothing but work?"

"Oliver and Percy," Penelope said blandly.

The two of us had slowed our walking considerably. People passed us frequently, but quickly, casting sad glances in my direction.

"Why didn't you tell Oliver all of this?" Penelope asked.

"I tried. I was too angry to really think of arguments at the time." I smiled bitterly. "I've had quite enough time since then to form some arguments, though."

She laughed, but understandingly and without much humor.

"It's too late, now," I said.

"You could always talk to him about it again."

I made a face. "Beg Oliver to take me back?" I asked.

"No. Make him see he was an idiot."

I shook my head. "You don't know Oliver. Anyway, you're one to talk. I don't see you trying to convince Percy he was wrong."

"You do know Percy," she said simply.

"Right. Oliver's just as stubborn."

"Anyway," Penelope said, "a part of me does see Percy's reasoning. I want to succeed, too."

"I do, too, but I know we can succeed and be together."

"So tell him that. What do you have to lose?" Penelope asked.

"Pride."

"Pride?"

"Yes," I said.

"That's it?"

I looked at her as if she'd said the sky was purple with pink polka dots and really believed it to be true. "That's enough," I said.

Penelope was confused. "So you'll put pride ahead of love?"

"I put pride ahead of everything. You put success ahead of love."

"Yes, but at least that's almost logical. Better than pride."

I half-smiled. "You wouldn't understand. You aren't a Gryffindor."

We walked down the stairs in silence, and I thought about what I'd said. I had never tied pride to being in Gryffindor before, but once I said it aloud, the link suddenly seemed obvious. Before going into the Forbidden Forest, Oliver and I had seriously wondered why the Sorting Hat had put us into Gryffindor. We couldn't think of any instances in our lives when we'd done anything worthy of being called 'brave'. Hardly any eleven-year-olds have. So the Sorting Hat must be looking for something else: a potential to be brave. A large amount of pride must surely be a signal for the Hat.

Take the cliché of a brave act: running into a burning building to save a stranger. A Ravenclaw wouldn't be stupid enough to risk his or her life. The odds of not surviving would be obvious to the Ravenclaw. The Ravenclaw would know it is much more practical to let professionals save the stranger, and running into the building may just make it so the professionals have to save one more person.

A Slytherin might risk his or her life to save a stranger if the Slytherin thought about how the attention afterwards might help him or her. However, a Slytherin would see that there is nothing to gain from dying.

A Hufflepuff would run into the building without thinking about it if someone he or she loved was threatened by the flames. Yet, the Hufflepuff's loyalty to those he loves would make it hard for him or her to risk his life for strangers.

A Gryffindor would run into that burning building because not running in would kill the Gryffindor more easily than risking his or her life. The Gryffindor could not live with him- or herself if he or she didn't try to help (for good or selfish reasons). Not to try would hurt the Gryffindor's pride too much.

The people in all four houses make good decisions about whether or not to save the stranger, but it is the Gryffindor who would be praised. The 'brave' side of pride is considered a virtue. That's the kind of pride I think Godric Gryffindor valued. Unfortunately, the same pride that makes Gryffindors brave is the same pride that makes us stubborn, stupid asses. Most of the big problems in my life were caused by it (at least partially): every time it took me too long to forgive a friend because I wouldn't apologize first; every time I silently cried myself to sleep instead of showing some weakness to someone; even when I asked Dan to meet me in the field behind the Burrow because I would have been to embarrassed to kiss him in front of his family.

And now I was going to let Oliver dump me for a stupid reason because my pride wouldn't let me plead with him to change his mind. Of course, Oliver's pride wouldn't have let him listen and admit he had been wrong. (After all, he was a Gryffindor, too.) So, I wouldn't try to make him come around. Knowing pride made Percy, Oliver and me unreasonable didn't change anything. We were how we were; I didn't have to like it.

Penelope and I walked into the Great Hall. I was trying to figure out if our conversation was over, debating whether I could just walk over to Gryffindor's table without another word.

"Well… good luck in the future," Penelope said.

I smiled and nodded. "Same to you."

She walked away to sit with her Ravenclaw friends, and for a moment, I felt lost. Habit was drawing me to sit with most of the Seventh Year Gryffindors, as I had every morning for breakfast, but I didn't feel up to trying to have a normal conversation, especially because Oliver was already eating with them. I started walking to Gryffindor table, scanning for empty seats. Percy was near the end of the table, not close to anyone. I quickly walked past my other friends and chose a seat directly across from Percy.

Percy looked up and, for a moment, appeared to be surprised.

"Morning," I said.

"Morning," he said, smiling slightly. He turned his gaze back to the Daily Prophet.

"I missed the mail delivery," I said.

"You can see the paper after I'm through with it," Percy said.

"Thanks." I started filling my plate with food. "What are we going to do today? No classes, homework or exams…."

Percy shrugged, still reading.

"Anything interesting happening?"

"Just more articles about how Black somehow escaped the other night. Fudge is blaming Dumbledore for everything."

I blew air out of my nose dismissively. "Dumbledore wouldn't help a mass murderer escape."

Percy raised his eyebrows but kept reading.

I sighed and started eating my eggs and toast. I rather missed the conversations with the other Seventh Years. Hadn't Percy and my conversations been less… one-sided in the past? Surely they had been.

"An owl delivered your paper to our part of the table while you were upstairs," Joan said, taking a seat next to me and placing the newspaper in front of her. "You owe Oliver a knut."

"Oh," I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a few coins. I found a knut and tried to hand it to Joan.

"Give it to him yourself," she said, smiling meaningfully.

I put the knut on top of the paper. "Take the knut or give him the paper he paid for," I said simply.

Joan took the coin and placed it in her pocket. "We're all going to Hogsmeade this afternoon. Most of the Seventh Years are going, as there's really nothing here to do now. You're welcome to join us." She turned her head to face Percy. "Both of you."

Percy turned the page of his paper.

"Don't try to fix this one, Joan," I said seriously.

"Fix what?" Joan said.

"You know what."

"You can still be friends with Oliver," Joan said.

"Not the day after they broke up," Percy said, turning another page.

Joan ignored him. "Oliver won't mind if you go."

"He'll mind if I go," Percy said.

"Thank you for offering, Joan," I said, "but I don't want to make all of you uncomfortable."

"You won't."

"All right. Then I don't want to be uncomfortable," I said.

She looked slightly hurt, and I'm sure she wanted me to see that.

"Look…" I said. "Maybe we'll see you in town," I tried to compromise.

Joan nodded and smiled. She stood up, said goodbye, and left.

"She's irritating," Percy said, finally tearing his eyes from the Prophet.

"Sometimes," I admitted, "but she means well."

Percy rolled his eyes.

"You don't like her because everyone considers her to be the nice prefect."

Percy grinned. "I'm nice."

I laughed, and he started looking at another section of the paper, smiling.

That afternoon, Percy and I did decide to visit Hogsmeade for a change of scenery. It may have been our second to last full day at Hogwarts, but that didn't change the fact that we'd spent hundred of days there. For a couple of hours, Percy and I browsed through several of the shops on the main street of town, spending more time than I'd have liked in the bookstore. I was glad not to be staring at common room walls, but Hogsmeade had lost a lot of its appeal after four years of Hogsmeade weekends. After Percy finally found a book with a Ministry worker as the main character, we went to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer and snack.

We waited at the counter after ordering, and after receiving our drinks and food, started making our way to the back of the pub. There weren't many people in the Three Broomsticks, but Percy and I were used to being there when the place was packed and finding seats in back was easier.

"Laura, you showed up," Joan said happily as Percy and I were walking by her table.

Percy and I stopped walking, both reluctantly, though I was slightly better at hiding it. I'd known the others were in town, but it hadn't crossed my mind that the Gryffindors would likely be at this pub when we got there. Percy had asked if I wanted to get a butterbeer, and I'd agreed to it. Everything had felt normal while the two of us window shopped, but we'd hardly talked. I thought sitting down somewhere might help the conversation.

"Did you hear about Professor Lupin?" Mark asked, looking up at Percy and me.

I shook my head.

"Turns out he's a werewolf!" Mark said.

"You're kidding," I said, raising my eyebrows in surprise.

"Explains all of the disappearances, doesn't it?" Cedar asked.

"So I suppose he's leaving?" Percy asked.

"Yes. Don't think many parents would want their kids being taught by a dark creature," Mark said, "which is too bad."

"They'll probably end up with another teacher like Lockhart," Oliver said.

"Well… no one expected Lupin to last more than one year," Cedar said.

I nodded in agreement, as did the others on Mark and Joan's side of the table, the only place I'd looked since Joan had called my attention to them. There was a short silence, which I spent nodding slowly, looking anywhere but at the people sitting opposite Joan.

"Well, let's not let our drinks get warm," Percy said.

I increased the speed of my nodding. "Yes. We'll see you all later."

"Only if you'll look at each other," Cedar muttered.

I didn't look at her (She was on the other side of the table.) or acknowledge she'd said anything. Instead, I followed Percy to a corner of the pub, where, thankfully, we could not see our classmates.

"Well, that was awkward," Percy said.

"I know," I muttered.

"Thank Merlin you didn't accept Joan's offer to tag along with them and drag me along with you."

I didn't say anything. Telling him to shut up would have only told him I agreed with his statement. Not saying anything did the same. I figured it was best to save my breath.

"It would have been interesting to see if you and Wood could have gone a whole day without looking at each other, though."

"Shut up, Percy," I said.

I had plenty of time to save my breath in the long silence that followed. He hadn't said anything to be mean, but I took his comment badly, anyway. I spent half an hour drinking butterbeer, trying to ignore sounds of conversation coming from the other Gryffindors' table, and avoiding eye contact with Percy.

About five minutes after my friends left the pub, Percy and I started talking again and decided to head back to the castle. We managed to have a decent conversation on the way back, though it was mainly small talk.

It was a nice evening, so most of the student body went outside, and Percy and I were no exceptions. At first, he read while I people watched. There was plenty going on in the grounds to keep me from becoming bored. After an hour or so of people watching, I saw Hagrid working near the lake, and it hit me that I may not see him again before I left the school.

"I'm going to go say goodbye to Hagrid. Want to come?"

Percy looked up from his book. "No, thanks. I've never really talked to him."

"It's not too late to meet him properly."

"How do you know him?"

I didn't want Percy to feel bad about anything I knew he was sorry for, so I just shrugged and said, "Not sure."

"Go ahead. I'll wait for you here before going inside."

I agreed to this arrangement and walked from an area near the doors of the castle to where Hagrid was working.

"'Lo, Hagrid," I said.

Hagrid turned and beamed. "'Ello, Laura! I was wonderin' if ya'd come say goodbye."

"Of course I would," I said, though it hadn't occurred to me until I'd seen him from across the grounds.

"So, 'ow are ya doin'?" he asked, standing up straight, turning his attention from whatever he was working on.

"Oh… you know," I said, shrugging.

"Something wrong?"

I looked up at him, taken a bit off guard. I thought he'd have heard. Most people in the school knew about the break-up because Oliver was involved.

"Where's Oliver?" Hagrid asked, looking over my head and scanning the grounds quickly.

"I'm not sure. We broke up."

Hagrid looked adequately surprised, and after he asked, I explained Oliver's rationale.

"Oliver made Puddlemere?" Hagrid asked after I finished. "Good fer 'im!"

"Great," I said, not hiding my sarcasm well.

Hagrid smiled. "Probably not easy fer ya to be excited fer 'im."

"I was excited for him. Now…."

"He's not completely wrong," Hagrid said carefully. "Yer careers are importan'."

"I know," I said begrudgingly, "but you know he's not completely right, either."

"I think 'e's mainly wrong," Hagrid said.

I smiled thankfully.

"I coul' talk ter 'im," Hagrid offered.

"No, thanks."

"It worked las' time."

"You gave him the same talk about fate and choices you gave me, didn't you?"

"Yes," Hagrid said.

"I thought you did."

We talked for several minutes about what I was planning to do after graduation and about recent events at Hogwarts. Hagrid knew more about Professor Lupin's resignation than Mark had told us, and Hagrid was happy to share most of what he knew with me, though not as happy as he was to talk about Buckbeak's survival. When signs of sunset started showing, I decided I'd better go back to Percy.

"Thank you for everything, Hagrid," I said.

"Oh, yer welcome. I enjoy getting' ter know the students."

"Especially those who need you?" I asked, smiling.

"Mostly," Hagrid admitted.

"Well… I could still never thank you enough." I blinked back a few tears and was doing well until Hagrid wiped his own eye. "Good luck with the rest of the students," I said sincerely.

"Oh, they jus' need someone ter listen. Write ter me when ya get on with the Prophe'."

"I will," I said. "Well, I'll see you around, Hagrid."

"Bye, Laura," Hagrid said, patting my shoulder, probably with more force than he meant to.

I started walking away, but there was still one more thing I wanted to know. "Hagrid?" I asked, stopping about five feet away from him and facing him. After he looked up, I continued. "I know this probably isn't going to help me much, but… did you really know all along that Oliver and I would date?"

Hagrid laughed, but not enough to make me feel stupid for asking the question. "O' course I did. Aren' doubtin' me, are ya?"

"No, but how'd you know?"

"You jus' fit the pattern is all. I' happens a lot when there's a group of three, an' one of 'em isn' the same gender. Usually the pairing doesn' involve the 'leader,' if you will."

"How often does this happen?" I asked skeptically.

"Often enough fer the professors to star' noticin'," Hagrid said. "Of course, I did consider you an' Percy."

I made a face. "No, that would just be wrong," I said quickly.

Hagrid laughed. "So I had pretty good odds on you an' Oliver."

"I guess," I admitted. "Well… that's all I wanted."

"I don't blame ya fer askin'. If ya ever need anythin', just ask."

"OK. Thanks. Goodbye, Hagrid."

"Good luck," Hagrid said, turning back to his work.

I walked back to where I'd left Percy. He'd repositioned himself to get better light so he could continue reading.

"I was about to see if you'd gone in already," Percy said, standing. We walked up to Gryffindor, and I filled him in on the Professor Lupin news on the way.

I spent the rest of the evening packing everything but a few changes of clothes and toiletries, as did the rest of the Gryffindor Seventh Year girls. They were still in great moods because N.E.W.T.s were over, and their happiness spread easily to me. We gossiped about people in other houses and years, avoiding talking about Oliver (and the other Seventh Year boys because Oliver could be mentioned) for my sake.

The next morning, after breakfast with Percy, I got ready to go to graduation with the rest of the Seventh Years. We had to wear our dress robes, even though there was no actual ceremony. The kids with wizards for parents didn't seem to mind the lack of ceremony, but the Muggleborns felt as if there should be more pomp or circumstance or something.

The nine of us Seventh Years met in the common room. Oliver and I stayed on opposite sides of the group, but we didn't pretend as if the other person wasn't there. He half-smiled and nodded at me when I came down with the other girls, and I did something that probably looked more like a grimace than the smile I'd meant to give him. After several minutes of small talk amongst the group, it was finally time to walk down to Professor McGonagall's office. Percy and I walked in the back of the group, and Oliver walked directly in front of us.

About halfway to McGonagall's office, Oliver turned his head. "Seems strange this is our last day here, doesn't it?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said simply. "Very strange."

He nodded as if I'd said something new instead of just agreeing. He kept his head partially turned for a minute before completely facing forward again.

"When's your Quidditch tryout?" I asked, trying to sound politely interested and not angry. I did well enough.

"In a few days. July third," Oliver said, still facing forward.

I nodded even though he couldn't see me. "That's when my interview for the Prophet is."

"Really?" Oliver asked.

"Well, that's ironic," Percy said.

I'd forgotten he'd been walking right next to me. I scowled at him.

"Shut up, Percy," Oliver said.

Percy didn't respond, but only because we'd all reached McGonagall's office, and she was standing outside of the room to greet us. She looked much happier and less strict than she normally did. She didn't look happy to be rid of us, but happy for us. I suppose there must be as much pride in helping a student succeed as there is in succeeding as a student.

There were enough chairs in Professor McGonagall's small office that all of us could sit, but the room was crowded. I ended up between Percy and Oliver. Briefly, I thought it was strange to be close to Oliver and not holding his hand or touching him. Professor McGonagall chased the thought away when she began congratulating us on graduating. Then she explained that we all could practice magic legally whenever we pleased, so long as we abided by Ministry laws. She passed out certificates (with our names written on them sophisticatedly) that said in flowery language that we'd met all of Hogwarts requirements to leave the school. Then she shook our hands, congratulated us all again, and sent us on our way.

I was sad about leaving the school in which I'd spent seven years of my life, but such a disappointing end to the experience was enough to make me tear up on the way back to the dormitories.

"OK?" Percy whispered.

"Fine," I responded.

No one else could see me since Percy and I again were bringing up the rear of the group, and by the time we reached the dormitory to change out of our dress robes, I didn't feel like crying anymore.

Percy and I spent our last day exploring the castle and grounds for the last time. Over the course of the day, things seemed more and more normal between us. Things would never be quite the same as they had been when Percy and I had been each other's only friend. I knew that once Percy got a job at the Ministry, it would become his life. Our friendship would always be formal, continued only through letters exchanged infrequently because neither of us would be able to let go of the past quite enough to lose touch completely. I think Percy sensed the same things I suspected about our future so, for one day, we pretended nothing had happened since our first year. For one last day, we were new students in a strange school, happy to have a new friend. If I were to write out a list of every thing I would change about my time at Hogwarts, I'd be writing for a week, but I would leave that last day exactly how it was, dreadful graduation and all.

The next thing I knew, Percy and I were on the Hogwarts Express, heading back to London, and I wasn't sure if it was all too soon or just in time. Percy clearly believed it was the latter, and we spent hours talking about what we expected in our futures. It was a nice change for the two of us to forget about the past few weeks and to focus on the coming years. Percy was as optimistic about his future as ever. I was just as willing to start over again.

About an hour before the train arrived at its destination, Percy and I were interrupted by a knock on the door of our compartment, which was near the front of the train. Joan stuck her head in after I reached over and slid open the door.

"Something wrong?" Percy asked in his Head Boy voice, which he rarely turned off.

"No, nothing. In one more hour, no more Prefect duty!" she said to Percy, taking her Prefect badge off her gown.

"If you hated it so much, why did you do it?" Percy asked, watching her take off the symbol of her authority as if she were removing her right hand.

"Looks good on a resume," she said honestly, sitting next to him. "You aren't glad to be done patrolling the corridors in the middle of the night?"

"I won't miss that, no," Percy said, smiling a little. After a minute of silence, he said, "Did you want something?"

Joan turned to me. "Were you going to come say goodbye to us all?"

"I said goodbye to you this morning in the common room."

"You didn't say goodbye to the boys."

"I didn't think they'd appreciate a teary goodbye from me. Anyway, I'll see them again. We've never said goodbye over vacations before," I said, laughing.

"It's not a vacation—" Joan said.

"I know, but it's not forever, either," I interrupted.

"Are you really going to refuse to come with me to say goodbye because of Oliver?" Joan said disdainfully.

"Yes."

"Well, that's rather immature, isn't it?" she asked after a pause.

"Yes," I admitted.

"You can't ignore him forever," she said.

"They spoke this morning," Percy said, almost hiding a smirk.

Joan blew air out of her nose. "Hardly. 'Your shoe is untied' doesn't count."

"Why do you care so much?" I asked exasperatedly.

"You're my friend."

"And…?"

"Isn't that enough of a reason for me to care?" she asked.

"You cared before we were friends."

"All right. Then I care because Oliver's my friend."

"How long is this conversation going to last before you agree to go say goodbye to your friends, as you should?" Percy asked me.

Joan looked at him, smiled and nodded. "See, even he things you should come."

"Thanks for your help, Percy," I grumbled.

He shrugged and picked up the book sitting next to him that had been closed for the majority of the journey. "Just seems rather stupid to drag some friends into a fight with another friend, doesn't it?"

It wasn't hard to guess what to what he was referring. "This is completely different," I said. I still think it was completely different. I stood up and followed Joan into the corridor anyway.

I felt as if I was going to throw up the chocolate frogs I'd eaten that evening for dinner. I tried to convince myself it was only motion sickness from walking in the opposite direction the train was going, and maybe that was part of my problem. The majority of my discomfort was from knowing how awkward the next few minutes could be.

Joan walked into the Seventh Year Gryffindors' compartment ahead of me. There wasn't truly enough room for all of us in the small space, so I stood partially in the doorway, partially in the hallway.

"She had to drag you to come see us?" Cedar asked. She sounded as if she was kidding, but her eyes looked at me seriously.

"I didn't want to leave Percy alone," I lied. "So I shouldn't stay long."

The group let my lie pass, but they didn't say anything else, either. I looked around the compartment. Everyone was looking at me or at Oliver. Oliver was looking at his shoes.

"I'll miss you all," I said to break the silence.

They mumbled responses.

"I'll see you soon," I said, silently cursing how awkward the situation was. "Thank you," I added.

"For what?" Adam asked.

I smiled. "For putting up with me for the past several months."

"Oh," Adam said. "Well, we've been putting up with you for much longer than several months. It's been seven years." It was Adam's way of saying I'd been in their lives longer than I'd been their friend. He meant it in a good way.

"All right," I conceded. "Thanks for putting up with me more than usual during the last several months."

"You're welcome," Mark said, grinning. "You know what I'd like to see for old times' sake? Oliver and Laura fighting like they used to."

Joan hit him in the arm with considerable force.

"I was only kidding," Mark said. "They know that."

I glanced at Oliver, and for the first time in a couple of days, we made eye contact. We both looked away quickly, but I felt less uncomfortable. I'd been dreading that moment, and now it was over.

"Good luck in the next few months," I said to the room at large, less restrictedly than I'd been talking before.

They wished me the same.

"Keep in touch."

They promised they would.

Joan stood up and hugged me, and Tara followed Joan's example. I returned the gesture gratefully.

"Let us know when your first story is in the Prophet," Mark said, easily reaching across the small space between his seat by the window to where I was standing. He shook my hand, and while it wasn't as nice as a hug, it was still a kind gesture coming from him.

Adam stood and turned away suddenly. "I can't. Saying goodbye is… just too hard."

We all laughed because Adam had said it more than because it was funny. I laughed the loudest, glad he was making everything less serious.

"I'll come see one of your plays," I said as he turned back and gave me a friendly hug.

"Only one?" he asked, smiling. Maybe he was serious. It was hard to tell.

"Write to me," Cedar said, standing and hugging me awkwardly.

Rose stood as well, and we exchanged a short hug. Had Rose not found me crying a couple of days before, I think she would have shaken my hand as Mark did. "Good luck with Marcus," I whispered, and I meant it.

"Thank you," she said, sitting back down.

I paused, suddenly uncertain what to do. Thankfully, my emotions couldn't top my very basic manners. I faced Oliver. "Good luck with Puddlemere," I said, and I meant that, too, almost as sincerely as I wished I could mean it.

"Thank you," Oliver said. He stood and reached out his hand, and it struck me as a cold gesture. I took his hand anyway. Neither of us shook our hands. "You'll do amazingly at the paper."

"Thanks."

He dropped my hand but remained standing. "Keep in touch, Laura."

I nodded and turned my attention back to everyone. "We'll be back in London soon. I'd best get back to my compartment. See you all later," I said.

They said goodbye as I left their area. I was sad to be leaving them, relieved to be finished with telling them that I was sad. Percy put his book away when I came back to our compartment.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

"Remember the conversation in the Three Broomsticks the other day?"

Percy snorted. "I don't think I'll ever forget."

"Well… this one was about like that."

"That bad?"

"It could have been even worse than it was," I sighed.

Percy didn't say anything for a minute. "There's only about ten minutes left until we reach King's Cross. I need to make sure everything's fine."

"You're leaving?" I asked, looking down at him sadly.

He paused. "I suppose I won't be able to do anything even if something is wrong."

"Probably not," I agreed.

"Then I'll stay."

I smiled. The two of us threw a few random items, including our robes, back into our trunks with the rest of our luggage. The train started slowing down. Percy and I watched parts of London go by, and soon we were looking at a wall inside of King's Cross. The two of us got our trunks down from the shelf above our heads, helping each other because they were heavy. The front of the train was almost as empty as the back of the train, so we got off the locomotive quickly.

Percy spotted his family almost immediately, their red hair making them easy to see in a crowd. I followed him to greet them. It had been a long time since I'd talked to them in person.

"Hello, Laura!" Mrs. Weasley greeted me, hugging me as she did almost everyone my age. "You've gotten so old."

"Not as old as we've gotten," Mr. Weasley said, smiling.

Other Weasley children reached our small group, and the Weasley parents' attention was taken away from me. It didn't bother me much.

"Well, I should go find my parents, too," I said, looking up at Percy.

He nodded. "I'll see you soon."

"If you're not working," I kidded, though I knew there was truth in my joke.

He grinned. "If we're not working."

"I'll miss you, Perce." Our trunks were on the ground, and my arms were free. I hugged him, quickly, and he returned the hug with one arm. (His other hand was holding Hermes' cage.)

"I'll miss you, too," he said as I backed away again to give him his space.

I nodded once and magicked my trunk onto a cart someone had brought over.

"That was mine," George or Fred said.

"Hers now," said the other.

I thanked the one who'd gotten the cart for himself, and he accepted my thanks rather well.

"I'll see you, Percy," I said, getting behind the cart and directing it towards the line of people waiting to leave Platform 9 ¾.

"Goodbye."

I started to walk away, but stopped when he said my name again.

"I'd have never made it without you," he said quietly after catching up, so his family couldn't hear.

I smiled broadly. "We're even, then," I said.

As the people in front of me left the platform, I took one last look at the Hogwarts Express. I thought about how I would probably never see it again. It let out a whistle, and I imagined that it was saying goodbye. It wasn't until I was on the other side of the barrier that it occurred to me that many wizards saw that train again when their children saw it for the first time. Mum and Dad saw me and started waving, and the thought left my mind as I greeted them.

_Author's Note_:

Sorry for the long wait for this chapter. School started again. On the other hand, this chapter was long enough to be two or three chapters, but I didn't want to make people wait longer for them. Hope you enjoyed this latest installment.

Coming up: Laura goes out into the real world, gets a job, and then discovers a career. The characters all meet up again for animportant event.


	14. Developing

_Author's Note_: You may remember that there was a chapter near the beginning of the story that I called a "transition chapter". This is another one of those. I could have summed up what happens in this chapter within a page, but I think a lot would have been lost. Hope you agree.

And if you're unfamiliar with the term "gopher", it refers to a person who runs errands. "Gopher" this, "gopher" that.

**Chapter 14: Developing**

"Well, Miss Debman, I have to be honest with you. There really are no positions open at the _Prophet_ right now."

Mr. Barnabas Cuffe lifted a foot off the floor and raised it to the point where, when he bent down slightly, he could pick up his leg and place his ankle on top of his knee. Satisfied, he leaned back as much as he could in his straight-backed, professional-looking chair. The desk between the two of us was spotless, though the desk in the back of the room, which he clearly used to do his work, was quite cluttered.

"You're qualified to work here. Your O.W.L.s were very good, and the preliminary results of your N.E.W.T.s suggest your final scores there will be quite good, as well," he continued.

He tapped his fingers on an arm of the chair. His other hand rested on top of his ankle. I disliked him. He held my future in his hands, yet he seemed unconcerned. He was powerful and he knew it. He didn't enjoy it. Perhaps years ago he'd enjoyed being able to determine what happened in others' lives. Now, affecting people's lives was as commonplace to him as magic.

"Of course, you don't even know what it is you want to do here," Cuffe said. "If I had some idea, I'd know whether or not we could afford to open another position for you."

"I'll do anything," I said honestly.

"Anything?" the editor of the _Daily Prophet_ asked, raising an eyebrow. "You'd be a janitor?"

I didn't answer right away. I knew he was just testing me, but I didn't want to end up cleaning toilets mere days after working so hard to perform well on my N.E.W.T.s. "If cleaning is the only way to work for your paper, I'll clean."

Mr. Cuffe smiled. He knew I didn't really mean it; I passed his test, anyway. "There is one position I can offer you. It isn't glamorous. However, you'd see bits of what most of the people who work in this building do."

"Sounds perfect," I said, praying I wouldn't be bringing all of the people in the building coffee or tea.

"Basically, you'd be a bit of a gopher," Cuffe said, shifting in his uncomfortable seat. "Anyone who needed a bit of help would come to you."

"So I'd do all of the jobs no one else wants?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Cuffe laughed. "Something like that, honestly. Reporters might ask you to check facts or set appointments for interviews. Photographers might ask you to help them develop film. Advertising specialists might ask you to write bills and send them. Everyone will ask you to run errands."

_So I_ will _be getting coffee for everyone_, I thought.

"As I said, it isn't a glamorous job. On the other hand, you could discover how else you might be an asset to our paper." Cuffe laughed. "Look at it this way. You can only be promoted. There's nothing to be demoted to." He laughed again at his own joke.

I forced a smile. "When can I start?"

"Next week," Cuffe said, uncrossing his legs. "Monday. Seven a.m. You'll start at one and a half times minimum wage. Raises come with each promotion. You'll have your own desk at the back of the main office space. One hour break at lunch. Work ends at six p.m. unless production is running behind schedule, as it always is, but you'll get paid for overtime. Two weeks vacation a year. Any questions?"

"Any benefits?" I asked.

Cuffe snorted. "You're a Muggleborn, I take it?"

I nodded.

"You're going to pay so many taxes to the Ministry, you'll wish you had _less _benefits."

"Oh," I said simply.

"Any other questions?" the editor asked, standing.

I shook my head and stood, too. "No, sir."

"Good. I'll see you Monday at seven." He stuck his right hand out across the spotless desk.

I took his hand and made sure I shook his hand firmly, remembering what I'd heard about strong handshakes showing strong character. "Thank you, sir," I said, smiling.

"Thank you, Miss Debman."

I left the office building of the _Daily Prophet_ and walked into Diagon Alley. It looked exactly the same as it had when I'd walked into the office an hour previously, but it had lost some of its magic. Diagon Alley was no longer the place in which I had first encountered a new world of people. I was suddenly a part of the new world. I wasn't a Muggle with magical powers; I was a witch. Diagon Alley was now only slightly more glamorous than the local convenient store.

It was ironic to me that, after spending seven years at Hogwarts worrying that I would never _really_ belong with wizards because I was a Muggleborn, graduating from Hogwarts is what made me feel like a true witch. I never thought feeling like a witch would ever upset me. It did because it upset my parents. They could tell that I no longer felt as if I was a part of _their_ world. It hurt me that I didn't _want_ to be.

I spent the next week finding an apartment. If my parents resented the wizarding world for any one thing, it was that children came of age one year early. I thought about staying with them, but I felt strange being a legal adult living in my parents' home. Sure, I was going to be financially relying on them for several months while I got on my feet, but I wanted to feel a _little_ independent. I found a run-down, one person flat in London that was near The Leaky Cauldron. It was cheap and convenient, so I barely hesitated to sign the lease. I moved out on my own two days before I started work. Mum and Dad helped me arrange everything.

The week passed and my first Monday as a _Daily_ _Prophet_ employee began. I got ready carefully, wanting to make a good impression on the people I'd be working with. I figured that if everyone there could tell me what to do, it would probably be to my benefit for the people there to like me. I felt somewhat immature caring so much about what the others thought of me. After all, I was going to start making my own money. I was living alone in a shabby flat. I was seventeen and a legal adult. Weren't adults supposed to be confident enough in themselves to know that an extra ten minutes in front of the mirror isn't going to make people like them any better?

I walked into the _Daily_ _Prophet_ office appearing as confident as possible. I'd learned the trick from Percy. He could pretend as if nothing was bothering him quite well. Strangers usually fell for his act. I always wondered whether or not the Weasleys could see through it.

I found my desk easily. Mr. Cuffe had given a good description of its location at the end of my interview. The desk was in the very back of the crowded main office area. I immediately wondered why I hadn't thought of bringing anything to put _on_ the desk. All the office had supplied was a small nameplate, a stack of rolls of blank parchment, a couple of quills and a half-empty bottle of ink.

I walked around the desk and saw the only part of my space I actually liked: the chair. I'd been afraid everyone would have a straight-backed chair like the editor's. I was happy to see a simple office chair. I sat down and tested its ability to roll, recline and swivel.

"I take it the chair is to your liking?" someone said as I was discovering that the chair could make four full circles with one push off the desk.

I put both feet down quickly, coming to an abrupt stop with my back to the speaker. I had to turn to see the person. I turned bright red when, as I'd feared, the editor was looking down at me.

"Sorry, Mr. Cuffe," I mumbled.

"Not a problem. You young ones right out of Hogwarts are always… interesting." He laughed.

"That's us," I said, growing redder.

"I've let the office know you're here at their disposal. The mornings will probably start out slowly. Late afternoon, when we're scrambling with the last few stories, is when things get interesting."

"Is there anything you'd like me to do now?" I asked.

"Oh, stick close to your desk, and I'm sure someone will find something for you to do."

"OK."

Cuffe left without another word. It was nice of him to come see me on my first day. Or maybe he'd just been checking to see if I'd shown up on time. Either way, I didn't think any better of him than I had during our interview.

I spent an hour staring off into space and rearranging the blank parchments in the drawers of my small desk. I could have gotten some entertainment from the office chair, but I was too afraid I'd get caught spinning around in circles again. Finally, a middle-aged woman with black hair and white-rimmed glassed came smiling up to my desk.

I smiled back, thankful to be getting any attention.

"You're the new gopher?" she asked.

I nodded and kept smiling. "Pretty much." I stood and offered my hand to her. "I'm Laura Debman."

She took my hand and shook it once before letting go. "I'm Melissa Furthing. I write for the business section of the paper. I have a little errand for you."

"Great!" I said, happy to end my count of how many windows were in the room. All of the windows faced Diagon Alley. Later I learned this was true of every room in the building. There was nothing on the other side of the office to look at. After all, there had to be boundaries to Diagon Alley somewhere.

Ms. Furthing handed me a sealed envelope. "Please take this to Mr. Ollivander. You know who that is?"

"The wand maker," I said, doing quite well at hiding any signs that the question was insulting. I took the letter.

"Yes. And please take this," she produced another sealed letter, "to the Owl Post and mail it Priority. Just tell the clerk it's for the _Prophet_ . They'll put it on our bill."

"OK," I said, taking the second parchment. "Why don't we just mail the letters from here?" I asked, my curiosity getting ahead of my tact.

Melissa's false smile became rather thin. "The Owl Post owls are more reliable than any animals we could get. Plus, it's more professional to use the mail service. And we'd need dozens of owls to send all of the mail the paper sends every day. What would the office look like if we had owls flying in and out at every moment?"

A part of me understood and agreed with her points. The other, and larger, part of me was thinking about all of the letters that I was going to be running to the Owl Post. (Months later, I learned that the woman was wrong. All businesses in Diagon Alley had to use the Owl Post so that the clerks there could control the number of owls leaving Diagon Alley to avoid drawing Muggle attention to the area.) Thankfully, the Owl Post was only approximately the equivalent of a city block away from the _Prophet_ office.

I spent the rest of the morning running similar errands. Most of the errands were related to the paper. Some were related to me getting food for others in the office. One errand involved me checking on a sick iguana at the Wizard's Veterinary Office. I was thankful to be undisturbed during my lunch break in a general staff lounge in the basement.

That afternoon, I was able to help with something more directly linked with the production of the paper.

"How do you feel about fact-checking?" a younger wizard asked as he walked up to my desk. His appearance could be summed up as "slightly above average." Slightly taller than average, slightly thinner than average, slightly more handsome than average….

I shrugged. "Er…."

"Rather apathetic?" he asked, smiling kindly. His smile was the only thing about him that stood out.

"If that," I admitted, smiling back.

He laughed. "Too bad. Come with me."

I stood up and followed him across the office. I took the opportunity to look around more closely. My desk provided a poor view of the goings-on in the office. There was a false wall about ten feet in front of my part of the office, which made it so I could only see the upper-half of the large room. Since owls were unwelcome in the building, the upper-half of the room was rather uneventful. I could see some of the windows facing the street. That was all.

"First day?" the man asked without turning.

"Yes."

"Enjoying it?"

"Yes," I lied.

"Good." He stopped in front of a table with some copies of newspaper pages and piles of parchments stuffed in large folders scattered across it. "All right. This is tomorrow's sports section. The magic in our printers eliminates grammatical errors, but can't check to see if what's written is true. And it can't check the spellings of proper names. So read the articles quickly but carefully. When you come across a name or place or time or… any statistical or factual piece of information, check it against our sources," he said, pointing to the stacks of folders, which were labeled neatly, "or the Network."

"I'm sorry. The Network?"

"The Informational Network," he said.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, Merlin…. All right. I'll give you a quick introduction to the Network. You'll have to figure out the rest on your own." He reached across the table and opened the largest book I'd ever seen. The book was easily two feet thick with a length of over two feet and a width of over one foot. Upon opening the book, I saw that the pages inside were thin and completely blank.

"Tap the book with your wand," the man said.

"OK," I said, nodding to show that I understood the first step.

He laughed. "No, I mean actually tap the book with your wand."

"Oh." I tapped the book. Lines started appearing on the two pages the book was opened to, but the lines didn't form words or diagrams. Each line, about an inch long, would appear slowly on one of the two pages the book was open to, but would disappear as soon as the line completely showed itself.

"Now take out a quill," he said.

"A quill?"

"Yes. A quill. You do know what a _quill_ is, don't you?" He meant it teasingly, but I took it personally.

"Of course," I said, blushing. "I just didn't bring a quill over here. I'll go get one," I said, turning from the table to make my way back to my desk.

"No need," the man said. He stepped quickly walked around a fake wall that was a few feet behind him and came back with a quill and a bottle of red ink. "Use these," he said, handing the materials across the table.

I took the quill, dipped it in the ink, and then looked up for directions.

"Now just write what you want to know," he said, raising a hand as if he were offering something to no one in particular.

I stared down at the massive book. At the moment, the only thing I wanted to know was why no one at Hogwarts had ever told us about the Informational Network.

"Write your own name in the book. That will be a good example."

I followed the man's directions and signed _'Laura_ _Debman'_ onto the top of the right-hand page. The lines that had been coming in and out of view froze while I wrote. As soon as I lifted my quill away from the parchment, the lines quickly flowed together to form words.

_Laura Anne Debman (17. Daily Prophet. London.) _

_Laura Sybil Debman (Deceased. Ministry of Magic. London.) _

_Laura Winfred Debman (79. Muggle. Devon.) _

"Then either take the quill and write the full name of the person you want to learn more about or take your wand and tap his or her name."

I tapped my name with my wand. The words broke into lines again, and then started forming new words. Within seconds, there was one page of statistics about my life. The book seemed to know everything important that had ever happened to me.

"Numerous books similar to this one make up the Informational Network. The _Prophet_ actually has several books, both because we need to look up so much information and because the paper has to keep every newspaper article ever written on record. Our books are bigger than most because they have to store all of those articles," the young man explained.

"It's all correct," I said, skimming the list of dates and names that were connected to me. Below the list of important dates, which included anything newspaper-worthy I'd ever done, was a list of my close relatives. "The Muggle papers are in the Network," I noticed aloud.

"Yes. And all of the Muggle libraries. All of the wizarding libraries are on the Network, too, except Hogwarts."

"Why not Hogwarts?"

"They're rather old-fashioned. Like their students to do as much work as possible." He laughed. "I'm sure you'll attest to that."

I smiled. "Yes. I was just wondering why Hogwarts didn't have a bunch of these things."

"Well, they're rather expensive. Ordinary people don't have a book connected to the Network."

"Hogwarts could afford them," I said.

He nodded. "That's true."

On a hunch, I tapped on my mother's name with my wand. The page reformed itself to show her information, which went onto the second page.

"I see you're catching on quickly, so I'll leave you to your fact-checking."

"OK," I said, looking up from the book and smiling thankfully. "Thanks for your help."

"Not a problem." The man started walking away quickly to do whatever it was he needed to be doing.

"What's your name?" I asked, realizing that he'd never told me.

The man turned his head and grinned. "You won't find anything interesting about me in there," he nodded towards the book.

"Oh," I said, only just realizing how powerful (and slightly unnerving) the Network really was. "I wasn't going to… I just wanted to know your name," I muttered.

He laughed. "I was giving you a hard time. My name's Elliot Murphy."

"Nice to meet you, Elliot," I said.

"You, too, Laura," he said, nodding before hurrying away to do more work.

The verifying was slow going at first. Part of my problem was that I was unfamiliar with the Network and with the filing system the _Prophet_ used to store their source materials. After about two hours (and two pages), I was familiar enough with both systems that I couldn't blame my lack of progress on not knowing what I was doing. I just didn't care about what I was reading. The sports section was the part of the newspaper I used to give to whoever asked for it first. I rarely even read the headlines. Now I was being forced to read details of Minor League Quidditch matches, probable outcomes of upcoming hippogriff races, new models of broomsticks and other such nonsense.

I grabbed the third page of sports section and almost whimpered. I was only half-way through the section, and I knew I was helping the paper very little. If it kept talking me a whole afternoon to look over one small section on the paper, I was going to lose my job. The first headline I saw on the page did nothing to improve my mood.

_**Puddlemere Names New Reserve Keeper**_

_Wood, Former Gryffindor Captain, 'Excited'_

I'd thought a lot about Oliver during the week while I had nothing better to do. I'd cried a little. I'd vented to my mum several times. I'd written half a dozen nasty letters and incinerated them quickly, both to feel better and to stop myself from sending them to Oliver.

I hadn't thought of Oliver once that day up to that point. I was too busy worrying about looking as if I deserved my job. I skimmed the article about Oliver, and the anger I'd felt during the past week surged back.

_Wood says he couldn't have made it to the 'big time' without the help of his family._

_"My dad, who played Quidditch himself when he was young, made all the difference. Without his support, I'd never be sitting here talking to you today."_

_He went on to say his friends at Hogwarts also helped him greatly._

_"My friends were all very supportive of my decision to play Quidditch professionally. All of them understood that I've been working for this my whole life. Honestly, I think they were happier than I was when I heard the news."_

"What?" I asked aloud. "Happy?" I scooted the chair I was sitting in away from the table. "I don't remember being very _happy_ about it."

"Happy about what?" a man, who looked as if he was in his mid- or late-twenties, asked, walking up to the desk. He had a camera case slung over one of his shoulders and was holding a single photograph in his hand. He moved awkwardly, his movements rather exaggerated, almost like prey that is very aware of its surroundings. He put his camera case on the table and ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair self-consciously.

"Nothing," I said. "Just… talking to myself."

I wondered if I was going to say _anything_ intelligent that day.

"What article were you reading," the man asked, slightly turning the page I'd been looking at. He skimmed over the top of the page. "This article?" he asked, guessing correctly.

"Yes," I said, seeing no way out of telling the truth.

"Then you know him?" he asked, holding up a picture.

I looked more closely. Oliver was standing proudly in robes of blue. I could see a gold symbol on his chest.

"I did," I said. I was surprised by my own answer.

The man blinked. "I see." He took his photograph of Oliver and placed it on an empty space of the page that I was supposed to be proofreading. "Took me forever to track down this broadsheet. It's usually past this stage by now."

I groaned inwardly and felt even worse about how slowly I was moving. Granted, this man wasn't helping me.

The photographer decided the photograph was too big. He took out his wand and waved it a bit in the direction of the picture. The image of Oliver shrunk a little. The man nodded, satisfied, and tapped the wand quickly and rather harshly on the photo, which melted into the paper. For a moment, I forgot the subject of the picture, impressed with what I'd just seen.

"Know him well?" the man asked, stepping back from the table, but still looking at the picture, probably making sure it was centered.

"Small school. Not many people in our year. Less than normal," I said, dodging the question.

The man nodded once. "I see," he repeated. He smiled quickly. "I'll let you get back to your work."

I watched him leave and then looked back down at the third page of the sports section. I sighed. One good thing came out of the previous situation: I was much more motivated to get to the fourth and final page of the job.

After finishing the sports section, someone from the international section asked me to do the same thing I'd just finished for her section of the paper. I agreed, happy to read about something that I was more concerned with. My interest in the material helped me get through the international section more quickly. The woman who'd given me the assignment even gave me a compliment after I'd finished.

Every workday for the next month was very much like the first day. I simply got better at _living_ that day. Within a week of starting the job, I cut down the amount of time it took me to fact-check a section of the paper from four hours to just over an hour. People started noticing, so there was never a day when at least three sections didn't ask me to use the Network to make sure everything in the paper was as true as we could get it. Thankfully, most people in the office made me feel appreciated. If they hadn't, I probably would have quit after a few weeks of running errands and verifying information. The work was boring. The glamour of the Network disappeared within days. The glamour of working for the _Prophet_ disappeared within weeks. Living on my own only made things worse because I had no one to look forward to seeing after work. I was still going home quite often for meals, especially on weekends, when I only worked a few hours in the afternoon.

About once a week, I would be greeted by a letter from Joan. She was following through with her promise to stay in touch with everyone, so she was able to keep me up to date with what the other Gryffindors were up to. Mark and Rose got lower jobs in the Ministry, but neither one was discouraged. Both of them were perfectly capable of moving up the ranks, and they knew it. Mark and Joan had decided to stop their off-and-on dating for good, and Joan told me she was glad. I completely believed her. Rose was still dating Flint, who also worked for the Ministry, in his father's department.

Tara was enjoying herself at the Flourish and Blotts in Hogsmeade. She was hoping to be transferred to the Diagon Alley store within a year, though it was unlikely that would happen. Even though her family owned the bookstore chain, Tara was still the lowest of the low. She was happy not to be receiving special treatment. Adam was scouring the wizarding world for an acting job. To make money, he'd gotten a job washing dishes at a Muggle restaurant somewhere in London. I was certain he was using magic when the Muggles weren't looking. Joan expressed similar concerns, though she was more apt to give Adam the benefit of the doubt.

Cedar was working for Gringotts in Diagon Alley, but I never saw her. As I'd feared before leaving school, I had no reason to keep in touch with most of the old Seventh Years. We'd gotten along well in a group, but I'd never had time to make strong friendships with most of them. Joan had forced me into a friendship, which I was glad to keep going after graduation. I wrote back to her within a day of receiving each letter. She said I was the best at keeping in touch.

The truth was that I was just trying to make her believe that her news about Oliver wasn't bothering me at all. He was by far the Gryffindor she told me the most about. There was no more to tell about Oliver's career than the rest of ours. He practiced Quidditch every day with the team. He traveled when the team wasn't practicing. The Reserve teams would play a match before the real games, so people coming into the stadiums would have something to watch. Oftentimes, the matches ended before the Snitch was caught so that the real teams could start their games on time. Oliver didn't care. He was doing well and was expected to substitute for the real Puddlemere Keeper soon. (I'd already read this in the papers, of course, though I never told Joan this. I thought she'd think I just didn't want to hear about Oliver, which was somewhat true, but I didn't want her to know that, either.)

Just when I thought that the rest of my time as the i Prophet /i 's gopher would be spent proofreading every article ever published by the paper and running back and forth between the Diagon Alley office and the Owl Post, I finally was asked to do a different task.

"Excuse me."

I looked up from the Network book I was using to check the Home and Home Life section of the paper. The voice had been unfamiliar, but I recognized the man, partially by the camera case hanging off his right shoulder. It was the same photographer who'd put Oliver's picture in the paper on my first day at the _Prophet_. I smiled at the man politely, only because I automatically smiled at everyone at work. Really, the memories of the not so good first day at the _Prophet_ and of Oliver's successful start to his career made me want to punch something.

"May I help you?" I asked, holding the smile.

"Yes, erm, I'm rather behind in developing my pictures. I'm usually much more on top of it, but I haven't been in the office much, and… so I need help."

"I have to finish this first," I said, motioning toward the newspaper section lying on the desk in front of me. I'd been following a first-come-first-serve policy since I'd started at the paper so no one could accuse me of favoring certain departments in the office. "It'll be about twenty minutes."

The photographer nodded once. "Come down to the dark room when you've finished. Oh, erm, knock first."

"OK…. Only… where's the dark room?"

"The basement. In the back, farthest from Diagon Alley."

"I'll come down," I promised, and the young man walked away.

Fifteen minutes later I was knocking on the door to what I hoped was the dark room.

"Coming! Don't come in!"

The door opened a sliver and a hand holding a wand popped into the hallway.

"_Nox_!"

The lights in the hallway went out with a tiny pop.

"Hurry. That charm is very temporary on anything other than wand-light," the photographer said, closing the door right behind me.

The dark room looked similar to what I imagined Muggle dark rooms look like. Red lights hovered near the ceiling so that people could work without compromising the black and white photographs. Pieces of photography paper floated in trays full of liquid on the worktables that lined the walls and the one larger table in the center of the room. In one corner, a few cauldrons brewed without giving off light. And, of course, drying pictures hung from strings stretching from wall to wall.

"We could dry them with magic, but I think they turn out better if they air day. Most of the photographers think I'm mad, but I convinced Cuffe it was the best method, so air drying is _Prophet_ policy now," Ian said, seeing me tracing the lines of photographs with my eyes.

I nodded, still looking around, and I vaguely wondered why I wasn't bored by the man's rambling. "And the cauldrons?"

"Potions for developing the pictures. Most of the ingredients are the same chemicals the Muggles use to develop pictures. Some ingredients help the pictures move when we do charms on them. And a couple are added so the potion doesn't explode."

I turned my attention to the photographer to see if he was serious. He was, but he'd also said the last comment as a joke. I recognized the dry sense of humor and laughed, mainly at the familiarity.

The man smiled, reminding me even more of Percy. I hoped for the photographer's sake that he didn't have much else in common with my friend, whom I'd hardly heard from since graduation. He'd sent a short letter saying he'd gotten a job at the Ministry in the Department for International Cooperation and that they were busy preparing for something happening at Hogwarts during the next school year. After a few more lines teasing me about how he couldn't tell someone who worked for the _Prophet_ information the Ministry was trying to keep secret, he'd signed the letter. I'd sent a few, more detailed letters to Percy, but had received no replies. It was hardly a surprise, but his lack of contact merely a month after the two of us left Hogwarts angered me a bit. I'd thought he'd put a _bit_ of effort into staying in touch at first.

"I was serious. The potions will explode," the man said.

"I know. You just reminded me of a friend."

"A friend? Not Oliver Wood, then, I take it," he said, grinning and showing he remembered our first meeting.

"No, not Oliver Wood," I agreed.

"Who, then?"

"Percy Weasley," I answered, wondering why he even cared.

"A Weasley? Bill's brother?"

"Yes," I said, surprised. "You know Bill?"

"'Course. Went to school with him. I was a year older, but seeing as we were both in the same house, we knew each other rather well."

"You were in Gryffindor?"

"Don't act so surprised, please," he said. "It pisses me off."

"No, no," I said quickly. "I just don't remember you. What's your name?"

"Ian Mallory," he said, holding out his hand. "I guess I forgot to tell you that small detail upstairs. That main area makes me nervous… too much stress up there."

I shook Ian's hand. "I'm Laura Debman."

"Laura Debman," Ian said slowly before shaking his head. "I'm afraid I don't remember you, either."

"Well, I was just a First Year while you were there. Still, I'll have to tell Percy to tell Bill I met you."

"How are the Weasleys?"

"Alive," I said, automatically coming up with Percy's answer to the question.

Ian frowned a bit. "Didn't Dan pass away a few years ago?"

"Oh," I said, caught off guard. "Er, yeah, a few years ago. Broom accident," I muttered. "I thought you meant more recently."

"It's been quite a long time since I talked to Bill, I guess. Probably haven't seen him since the funeral." Ian coughed a bit. "Anyway, I should send him a note. See what he's up to."

I nodded.

Ian looked at me closely for a moment, then blinked and smiled. "Have you ever developed pictures before?"

"No," I said apologetically.

"No problem. Making the potion is the hard part. The rest is relatively simple."

"I like relatively simple."

"Then you'll love this," Ian said.

I did love it. I don't think I'd have called the process simple, but it certainly wasn't brain surgery. Ian showed me, quickly but in a plain manner that I could understand, how to transfer the negative from the film to the photograph paper, which involved two charms. Then he demonstrated how to place the photograph into the tray so that the negative would not be harmed. He assured me the potion almost _never_ explodes in the trays. ("If it was going to blow up, it would have done so in the cauldron. Not to worry. Potions was my second best subject.")

We worked on those steps for about an hour before all of the pictures Ian wanted to develop were properly in their separate trays. When we finished, Ian said we'd have to wait a few minutes before we could start hanging the photographs to dry.

"Well done," Ian said kindly.

"I'm rather slow at it," I apologized. "It's fun, though. Well, maybe 'fun' isn't the right term, but it's… better than looking up facts in the Network all day," I grinned.

Ian laughed sympathetically. "I never was very interested in the writing side of news. Another reason I don't like the main workspace of the office."

"I don't hate it," I said hurriedly. "I don't mean to sound as if I hate it."

"You didn't sound as if you hated it." Ian smirked. "You merely sounded as if you didn't particularly like it."

"I don't," I admitted and sighed. "I've always wanted to work here. I didn't picture myself… doing what I'm doing, I suppose."

"You won't be doing what you're doing forever. Cuffe won't have it. The gophers don't stay gophers long."

"They get promoted?"

"The ones that don't quit first, yes," Ian said.

"Wonderful."

He laughed. "Don't worry. If the office didn't like you, they'd have made sure you'd have quit by now." He paused. "Another reason I don't like the main office area."

I smiled at him thankfully.

"You really don't mind developing pictures?" Ian asked.

"No, I like it," I insisted.

"Then, after I show you how to hang them up, maybe you can come down and help out every now and then. You know… it might make things here better if you don't have to do the _exact_ same thing every day. And I would get to spend more time taking pictures and less time in the dark room."

I smiled genuinely. "That would be great."

"OK. Then let's get started again."

The process of hanging the photographs to dry was rather self-explanatory, though I had more problems with it than with putting the pictures in the potion to develop. All hanging the pictures involved was using a pair of forceps to gently slide the photographs out of their trays, lifting them up to drip for a few seconds, taking them over to available spots on the string, and attaching clothespins to them. No matter how hard I tried, I could not master the forceps. I dropped a few pictures. I tore another. The rest of them took me so long to hang that I hardly helped Ian at all with that part of the process.

"Why can't we just use magic to get those out of the trays?" I asked, still frustrated even though we were finished.

Ian shrugged. "You could, I guess. Sometimes it's just easier to do things the Muggle way."

I snorted and Ian laughed.

"Don't worry about it. I didn't like the picture you ripped in half anyway."

"You did. You said so when I put the picture in the tray."

"Yes," Ian admitted, "but that doesn't make you feel better."

I smiled. "Now you're crossing into Dan's sense of humor."

"How is that different from Percy's?"

"It's not, really. Dan's is just a bit kinder."

Ian nodded slowly and coughed again, as he had when he'd mentioned Dan right after I'd come downstairs.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly.

"For what?"

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I… I know it's an uncomfortable topic."

Ian shook his head. "I hardly knew Dan, Laura. I thought the subject was making i you /i uncomfortable."

"I… no… I just…. The subject caught me a little off guard last time and… I didn't… I mean, I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten about…. Maybe a little uncomfortable." I laughed at myself. "I'm just not used to people not beating around the bush when they talk about Dan."

Ian awkwardly shifted his weight to one side. "I'll try to keep that in mind."

I shook my head. "No need to." I smiled. "I guess I'd better go back upstairs and proofread another section. My guess is that at least two sections are sitting on my desk as we speak."

"Ugh," Ian said, making a face. "Desk work. _Another_ reason I don't like the main workroom."

"Yeah, the desks aren't much," I agreed, walking to the door. "But the chairs are great." I stuck an arm out of the now cracked door. "_Nox_!"

As I reached the staircase, the lights went out again and I heard Ian call my name. I turned and saw his silhouette standing outside of the darkroom.

"What?" I called.

"There's a photography position opening soon. Simpson's retiring. You should think about it," he said loudly, not moving from his spot outside of the door.

"I don't know anything about taking pictures."

"So learn." Ian raised his wand. The lights started to flicker back on. "_Nox_."

I didn't think about what he'd said until I got back to my flat one night about a week later. Joan had sent another letter with news about herself and our friends. It seemed as if all of them were moving forward. She was doing well in the summer classes she was taking and loved volunteering at St. Mungo's. Adam had just gotten a role in a production of _The Merchant of Venice_. Even Cedar, the most indecisive and noncommittal of all of us, had learned she liked working with money and had gotten a permanent position at Gringotts.

I felt like the only one floundering. Yes, I had a job, but not a career. I wanted to be able to say that I _did_ something at the _Prophet_, not that I merely worked there. I thought about what Ian had said about considering photography. At the time, it seemed like a great alternative to the crap I was doing in the main office. On a whim, I went to my parents' house to borrow my dad's old camera. After fiddling with it for an hour, he remembered enough to show me how to focus it and adjust flash levels and film speeds. I had no idea what I was really supposed to do, but I wasn't above experimentation.

Within a week, I had a few rolls of pictures I'd taken at the park near my flat and at a busy street in London. The pictures were sitting in my bottom desk drawer, waiting for the chance to be shown to Ian. Finally, a few days after I'd brought in the prints to the office, Ian sent a note asking for help developing his film that afternoon.

"Well… the good news is that you're not hopeless," he said after looking through the prints quickly. I'd dragged him into the hallway after we'd finished putting his pictures into the Developing Potion. "You're figuring out the focus, which is probably the hardest part. Here's what you need to remember: in magical photography, the subject of the photograph will move. We charm it to do so. The background, however, stays the same. So, it's the background you want to get perfect."

"Oh," I said somewhat dejectedly. "OK. I'll try again."

"Do that," Ian said, smiling. "But now, let's hang up some pictures."

I did much better with the forceps, not tearing a single photo.

I had several rolls of pictures by the time he called me back down a week later. He recommended that I keep paying attention to backgrounds, but said that I was on the right track.

"If I got a job as a photographer, what would I be taking pictures of?" I asked.

Ian shrugged. "Whatever your beat is. I take pictures of sporting events, as well as news events that take place in Diagon Alley. …Not much happens in Diagon Alley, so mainly I do sporting events."

"That seems like a random assignment."

"Not really. I travel a lot for the sports pictures, so I need my other beat to be close to the darkroom. My guess is that whoever gets the new position will get a rather boring beat. Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, maybe."

"Those places to need their own photographer?"

"No, but people like to read about their kids and see their pictures in the paper," Ian said. He took out his wand. "_Nox_." The lights popped out. "Back to work."

My meetings with Ian became regular. Once a week, I'd go down to the darkroom and show him photos. Once a week, he'd tell me I was making progress and to keep trying. I no longer had to concentrate as much while putting pictures into trays of potion or while hanging up the photos to dry. While we worked, Ian gave me tips about how to improve my photographs and explained some of the subtleties of using a camera.

My weeks revolved around those meetings, which got longer as he started showing me how to do tasks that were more complicated. I genuinely enjoyed learning about photography, and I liked Ian's company. I was rather lonely at the time, I guess. I felt as if I had two friends: Joan, whom I never saw, and Ian, whom I saw once a week. Sure, I was friendly with some people in the office. I ate lunch with Elliot, the man who'd taught me about the Network, and a few women from the local and national news sections of the paper. Though I enjoyed being around them, I didn't feel as if those were _real_ friendships. Not like those friendships I'd had with the other Seventh Years. With Percy. With Oliver.

…I missed them both.

Despite the boring nature of my workdays that didn't involve trips down to the dark room, Christmas and New Year's came much faster than they'd ever seemed to come before.

"Are you coming to the office New Year's party?" Elliot asked me during one of our group lunches.

"There is one?" I asked. I had wondered, but thought someone would have mentioned it sooner than a few days before the event.

"Oh yes, it's quite a good time. And Cuffe kind of expects everyone to come," Hilary, one of the women from the national section, said. "You should definitely come."

I grinned. Joan had been on my case for the past month about going to the Wood's party. She'd assured me Oliver did not mind if I came, though I couldn't help but wonder if she'd even brought up the possibility in her letters to him. For the past week, I'd been _desperately_ searching for a better excuse than 'I don't want to go.' The office New Year's party would was a better excuse than I ever could have hoped for.

"I'll definitely be there," I said, nodding.

"Good," Elliot said.

The party went well and I met several colleagues I'd never seen in the main office space before, including some of the photographers. I had a good time. Still, I couldn't silence the small part of me that wondered what would be happening if I'd gone to Oliver's house. But it was only a small part.

I'd gotten short breaks from work for Christmas and New Year's. When I went back, I was sure that every additional day I spent with the Network was a day that I wouldn't spend with my grandchildren. The work was so boring, I thought it was impossible that the tediousness wasn't cutting time off the end of my life. I started to put all of my effort into photography, spending lunch breaks in the dark room to develop my own pictures and to practice charms on them.

I enjoyed experimenting with the different charms Ian had shown me. Different charms made people do different things. Some charms (the charms most commonly used on the photographs that normal wizards take and have developed by a professional) made people do whatever they were doing when the picture was taken. Ian called these the "candid" charms. Other charms made people act in certain ways, no matter how those people had felt when their photograph was taken. I could make sad people smile and wave. I could make happy people angry.

About five months after I started working with Ian, and about two weeks after I'd learned how to charm pictures, I finally asked him what had been bothering me since he'd told me about the different types of charms. "Aren't we doctoring these photos?" I asked.

Ian, a Muggleborn, was familiar with the term and shrugged. "Technically, I guess."

"Isn't that dishonest?"

Ian laughed. "If, by 'dishonest', you mean that the photograph isn't representing what was actually happening at the _very_ instant the picture was taken, then yes. However… here, here's an example."

Ian took down a photograph of a Quidditch Seeker reaching out to catch the Snitch.

"This woman missed the Snitch by inches," Ian said.

He performed one of the "candid" charms to show this happening.

"Now, you can't really see this person's reaction. However, I can assure you that she almost broke her broom in half while still riding it, she was so angry."

He performed a charm that increased a subject's anger. The person in the picture started making signs of frustration after continuously missing the Snitch.

"Not _exactly_ her reaction, but it does represent her feelings. Is that 'dishonest'?" he asked.

I paused. "Kind of. But not horribly."

"Exactly. It's no different from touching up a photo to increase the quality. Not really. It simply makes a better product," Ian said.

"I guess," I agreed.

"Some of the photographers here _do_ perform charms to inaccurately portray their subjects," Ian said, lowering his voice a little, even though there was never anyone else in the dark room with us. "At least, I'm about ninety-nine percent sure that they do. I can't prove it, of course. What they do, yes, is dishonest. And I strongly suggest you never do it."

He rarely got preachy on me. That was one of the only times he ever did. I solemnly promised him that I never would publish an inaccurate or truly dishonest photograph. He smiled, nodded once, and turned back to his work.

I started hanging pictures in silence while Ian continued to charm a few more pictures. It was uncommon that we worked without talking, usually about photography, but sometimes about other things. Never highly personal things, perhaps with the exception of our shared experiences as Muggleborns. I tried to avoid personal subjects, partially because he was a coworker and I'd always been told not to get too close to people I worked with. Also, Ian was a bit nosy. At the time, I was still a little worried he'd try to get involved if I told him too much, like Joan had done in the past.

"Would you like to be a photographer for the _Daily Prophet_?" Ian asked suddenly.

"Yes," I said immediately, dropping the picture I'd been hanging to dry.

"I talked to Cuffe this morning. Told him you already know how to do the lab work and are getting rather good at taking pictures, too. And considering that I taught you everything myself, I was able to assure him he would save time and money hiring you because you know how things here are done."

It was true. Charming photographs had been his last lesson for me. I'd already learned now to make the dangerous Developing Potions. I'd even learned how to resize and place photographs onto the broadsheets so that they could be published.

"The job's yours," Ian said, looking up from the photograph he'd finished charming.

I didn't even bother to pick up the dropped photograph. "Oh, thank you, Ian!" I said, beaming and practically jumping up and down. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Ian laughed and bent over to pick up the picture still lying on the ground. After he stood back up, I threw my arms around him and hugged him tightly. "Thank you," I said one last time and kissed him friendlily on the cheek.

Ian laughed again, a bit embarrassedly. "You're welcome. I'll just have to leave that part out when I tell my girlfriend you accepted the job."

"You have a girlfriend?" I asked, surprised but not unhappy.

"Yes. I've told her a lot about you, actually. She particularly liked the story about when you threw yourself under this table," he motioned to the center table, which we were standing next to, "when you thought your developing potion was going to blow up."

"Oh, I did not," I said, waving a hand dismissively.

"You did," Ian said, smirking.

"Why didn't you ever tell me you had a girlfriend?" I asked to change the subject.

"You never asked."

"I never asked…. Well, why didn't it ever come up?"

"Well, if I would have mentioned Sarah, then you'd have asked about her. Then I would have had to ask you if you had a boyfriend, which would have led to Oliver Wood, and you never seemed so keen to talk about him."

"I don't seem not 'so keen' to talk about Oliver," I said after blowing air out of my nose. I blinked and looked at him more closely in the poor light. "Wait…."

Ian was trying to hide a smile so large that it was clear he was only barely keeping himself from laughing.

"I'm the Quidditch photographer, Laura," Ian said, as if in explanation for knowing information about me that I'd never told him.

"So?"

"He asked about you. When I took his picture at the beginning of last summer. I kind of suspected he'd dated you based on how he asked, and your reaction to that one article confirmed my suspicions." He laughed at my still befuddled face. "I simply put two and two together."

After several seconds, I said, "I think everyone else is better at math than I am."

"Maybe."

"If I weren't still so happy about not being the _Prophet_'s tool anymore, I'd probably be rather pissed right now."

"I know. That's why I decided to confess now," Ian said, grinning.

I shook my head and smiled despite my best efforts not to. "Your sense of humor is _definitely_ more like Percy's than Dan's."

"Ouch," Ian said, wincing in mock pain. I'd complained to him once or twice about Percy's lack of communication.

"Anything else you'd like to confess while I'm in a good mood?"

Ian paused but shook his head. "No. You should go upstairs and tell Cuffe you've accepted the new job."

"OK," I said. In my excitement, I almost forgot to "_Nox_!" the lights in the hallway before leaving the dark room, which Ian probably would have killed me for, even if that would have meant someone would have had to train a new photographer.

I was able to see Mr. Cuffe right away, which was unusual if one didn't make an appointment.

"Come to accept the job?" Cuffe asked from behind his clean desk before I'd even reached the chair across from him.

I nodded and stopped walking.

"Here's the contract." He pushed a piece of parchment across the desk. "Take it home tonight. Read it. Sign it. Bring it back tomorrow."

"OK."

"You'll start next week. You can spend the rest of this week familiarizing yourself with your beats."

"Hogwarts and Hogsmeade?" I guessed.

"Hogsmeade, yes. You won't get Hogwarts until after the Triwizard Tournament is over. Rita Skeeter has that story, and she has her own photographer, Bozo. So until you get Hogwarts back, you'll take over one of Simpson's assignments."

"Which is?" I asked, praying it would be a decent beat.

"London. Just the general stories. We'll send out more experienced photographers for bigger stories. And Diagon Alley is Ian's."

"Yes, sir."

"I think the assignment will be good for you. You're from London, correct?" the editor asked, though it was clear he already knew the answer.

"Yes, sir."

"Then I'm sure you'll do fine."

Cuffe smiled, not kindly, but still supportively. _The kind of smile that Oliver used to give his players before a match_, I thought. The thought made me uncomfortable. The past few months had been good for me where Oliver was concerned. I had had other things to think about, like learning about photography. The better I'd gotten at photography (though I still was by no means great), the less angry I was at Oliver for succeeding at his job. I was still angry with him for giving up on the relationship, of course. I missed having him to talk to, and as far as I was concerned, it was his fault I'd lost him as a confidant.

"Thank you. I'll do my best," I promised Cuffe.

"I've no doubts of that. Now, go unpack your desk for the next unfortunate person to receive your job."

"Yes, sir," I said with enthusiasm, turning to leave.

"Don't forget the contract."

I spun around, quickly picked it up and headed out of the office.

That night, I got out a quill and parchment and sat at the small table in my kitchen/dining room/ living room to write my first letter to Joan that wasn't a response to one of her letters.

_Joan,_

_They finally offered me the job! I accepted, of course. Tell Oliver._

_Love,_

_Laura _

_Author's Note_:

Sorry for the long wait for this chapter. School got in the way of writing fan fiction, unfortunately. Thank Merlin for vacations! Be on the lookout for more updates (at least one!) between now and the end of January.

In the next chapter (which was originally going to be part of this chapter…oops):

About six months after the end of this chapter, Laura's career makes her first reunion with the Seventh Years quite… uncomfortable. Shouldn't be an extremely long chapter, though I've said that before.


	15. Binding

**Chapter 16: Binding**

"That's a nice picture of the castle," Ian said, looking over my shoulder at a picture of Hogwarts I was hanging to dry.

Most photographers at the _Daily_ _Prophet_ preferred to develop their pictures alone to prevent their colleagues from seeing the bad photographs they'd taken that week. The bad pictures were inevitable. News is hard to capture in a film clip. Imagine trying to capture a story in one frame of that clip—even if the subjects in the frame can move. Yet, even though all of us photographers knew that all of us took bad pictures, most of the people at the _Prophet_ tried to hide it. It was a pride thing; I could understand that.

But Ian and I had no reason to hide our pictures from one another. He'd seen my first pictures. I'd helped him develop enough rolls of film to see some of his not-so-great shots. Truth is, we'd gotten used to each other's company and preferred to have someone to talk to in the dark room. It helped keep the rather monotonous task of developing film from getting boring. I looked forward to seeing Ian, which I only got to do while I developed my pictures each week.

"Thanks. My first picture for my Hogwarts beat. It'll look great next to the catching headline 'School Closes for Summer,'" I said sarcastically.

Ian laughed good-naturedly. "That's an important story."

"Happens every year. As if anyone needs the reminder. I highly doubt the professors or students are going to care to read about the end of term in our paper."

"Not every story has to be earth-shattering."

"Yeah, well…you have to say that. You cover sports."

"Ouch," Ian said, but he laughed. He was more than used to my abuses of the sports section, which I hardly _ever_ really meant. "That coming from the Hogsmeade photographer turned wedding photographer."

"Oh, shut up," I said seriously, turning away from my string of drying photographs to give Ian a dirty look. It did no good. His back was turned and he was shuffling through photos to find the ones worthy of charms.

"Anyway," I added, turning back to my work, "I still have the London beat. Cuffe's letting me keep it over the summer. So he'll be paying me for _something_."

"Too bad. There's a lot of money in wedding photo—_ow_!"

"Oh, I didn't hit you that hard," I said, moving my hand away from the back of his head.

"Anything interesting happening at Hogwarts?" Ian asked, catching the hint that a change of subject was in his best interest.

"You mean, other than a student dying?"

Ian paused. "Oh, yeah."

"'Oh, yeah,'" I mimicked. "Guess that's all I should expect when his death was hardly a footnote in the paper."

"Well… other things kind of overshadowed the story…." Ian said slowly, knowing I wasn't going to like his comment, even if it was true.

"I'm not saying it should have been the front page headline. I'm saying his death should have _had_ a headline."

"Yes," Ian agreed. He paused even longer than he just had. "Know him?"

"No," I said. I stopped hanging pictures. "Knew who he was, of course. Didn't know him personally."

I knew I'd sounded relieved. I was _glad_ I hadn't known Cedric Diggory personally. I'd gone to the school on the last day of term to take pictures of the students leaving the castle to get into the thestral-drawn carriages. It was obvious that the school was reeling from the loss. I pitied those who _had_ known Cedric. I knew how they felt… how they would feel for a long time. I wouldn't have willingly taken any of their places.

"I see," Ian said.

I knew what that meant. It meant that he knew there was more than I was saying. He knew I was glad that I hadn't known Cedric, and he knew _why_ I was glad. A few months previously, I'd asked him why he never talked about the Weasleys, despite knowing Bill fairly well when they were younger. At first, he'd tried to get me to believe that he didn't want to bring up Percy, which made no sense; I complained about Percy's lack of communication periodically. It had gotten to be routine. I complained about it more for the sake of complaining than because I was actually still angry with Percy for burying himself in work. That's just the way Percy was. No reason to take it personally.

"Do you remember how I said I didn't remember you from Hogwarts?" Ian had asked, avoiding my gaze.

"Yes."

"That was true. But I do remember you being at that funeral. …Dan's funeral."

I had winced slightly. "Not my best moment."

Ian still didn't look me in the eyes, but he said, "I remember thinking you were taking it very bravely." A Gryffindor could say nothing kinder to another Gryffindor.

I never told Ian anything else about Dan and me. Ian never asked, but I think he suspected a lot. That brief conversation made us better friends. We'd clearly established what our conversations could _not_ cover, which opened up a world of subjects that we _could_ discuss.

I absently gazed at a picture that I'd taken of Hogwarts at dusk, debating whether or not to say what was on my mind. "Dan didn't get an article, either."

"I know," Ian said.

We worked in silence (except for Ian's charms) for a few minutes. I quickly worked myself out of the sadness I felt after thinking about how the people who were missing Cedric were feeling.

"I'm thinking of moving to Hogsmeade," I said. "It'll cut down on travel. Plus, I won't have to be in London very often when I lose the London beat."

"Would moving really be worth not having to Apparate to Hogsmeade every day?" Ian asked.

"No, but it would be worth being there if anything happens that is important."

Ian laughed quickly. "In Hogsmeade? How likely is that?"

I shrugged. All of my photos were now drying. I turned around so I could lean up against the center table and face Ian's back. "Depends on whether or not Dumbledore's telling the truth…."

Ian turned his head to the side. "You believe it?" He was clearly surprised.

"I don't know. While the kids were leaving the castle, I heard people talking about the speech Professor Dumbledore gave. Dumbledore definitely believes he's back."

"Doesn't mean it's true," Ian said.

"No." I shivered slightly, even though the Developing Potion brewing in the corner made the room quite warm. "I went to Hogsmeade's library after leaving the school. Looked at some papers from before You-Know-Who died. Or… disappeared, maybe." Another shudder. "I hope he's wrong."

"You-Know-Who doesn't _seem_ to be back."

"No," I agreed. "Time will tell, I guess."

"I guess." Ian shifted his weight.

I was glad to see him give a sign of uneasiness. Ian was a Muggleborn, like me, so even though _he_ would have been old enough, neither of us could remember You-Know-Who's first reign. Nevertheless, I was still highly unnerved by the stories Dumbledore was telling and was glad Ian seemed to be, too—I didn't want to feel cowardly.

"You ask Elliot to the wedding yet?" Ian asked, clearly trying to change the subject and choosing his current favorite topic because it was my least favorite thing to talk about.

"No," I said darkly. "I'm not going to. We haven't been dating that long—"

"A few months—"

"And he'd just be bored," I continued, ignoring the interruption. "I'll be taking pictures most of the time."

Ian laughed. I scowled.

"It wasn't _my_ idea," I said.

"You still said yes."

"What was I supposed to say? 'No, Joan. I won't take pictures at Tara and Adam's wedding. In fact, I don't really even want to go'?"

"Of course not," Ian said. "You have to _go_."

"See?" I said.

"They should never have asked you to be the photographer. It's rude," Ian said, in what could have been interpreted as sympathy if one didn't know better.

Ian and I had been through this conversation before. It didn't matter. Ian found the situation highly amusing. I found it displeasing and had to vent frequently about the future situation Joan had set me up for.

"Truth is, I thought being the photographer would help me out," I admitted. "Having a job to do means I won't have to be as social."

Ian snickered. "Are you joking? You'll have to be around the bridal party all of the time. You'll get to be social with a camera in front of your face."

I groaned. "You could _try_ to make it seem as if this wedding won't be hell for me."

"I'm sorry. Look… would you like me to come?"

I snorted. "You just want to witness everything, in all of its horridness, for yourself."

"No," Ian said, affronted.

I raised an eyebrow.

"OK, partially," Ian admitted, "but I could also help. Maybe make things less awkward. You could introduce me as a friend. You'd _have_ to talk to me, which will give you an excuse not to talk to them."

"It's not that I don't _want_ to talk to them. Just… under different circumstances."

"I'll gladly come," Ian offered once more.

"Thanks, but no thanks," I said politely. "You'd be just as bored as Elliot would be. And… I don't think there's a person on Earth I could bring to make this less awkward than it's going to be."

"It would help if you'd seen your friends in the past year."

"I know," I said. "I've written to all of them at least once. Late Christmas cards."

"All of them?" Ian asked, fully knowing the answer. He wasn't facing me and I could _still_ see him grinning.

"Shut up," I muttered. "Almost all of them."

"Not Oliver," Ian said, unable to control his laughter anymore.

"Well… it's been a year. Maybe it won't be so bad," I said.

"Are you still angry with him?"

"A little," I admitted. "Maybe a little more than a little."

Ian started laughing even harder. "Oh, it's going to be bad. You still have time to get back in contact with him."

"I could," I said, nodding.

"You won't," Ian said, finally turning around to face me. "If I know you, you'll put it off as long as possible."

"Yes," I didn't try to deny his allegation.

"Well… look at it this way. It will be over in September."

"Lovely. A whole three months of dreading the wedding."

Ian smirked. "On the plus side, you've plenty of time to find a dress."

"You really are an ass," I said.

"Aren't all of your friends?" Ian asked smugly.

I laughed appreciatively. "Now that you mention it, yes."

Ian went back to his pictures, which were lying on one of the tables that line the walls of the dark room. "Wonder what that says about you—_ow_!" He spun around on his heel, clutching the back of his head. "I know _exactly_ what it says about you!"

I grinned. "Yes?"

He grasped for words for several seconds before giving up. "You're lucky I'm too nice to call you any of the words that just came to mind."

I nodded once. "I'm sure I am," I said with false sincerity.

"_Sure_ you don't want me to come to that wedding?" Ian asked, preemptively putting his arms up in defense.

"Get back to your work," I said, laughing.

I spent all summer dreading the beginning of school. I was reasonably sure I was the only person (who wasn't a student or a professor) who felt so negatively about September first. Yes, the beginning of the school year meant that I would actually have something to take pictures of at Hogwarts other than the practically empty castle. (Despite its lack of activity, I was required to go to the school for a certain amount of time each week. I usually had tea with Hagrid. We avoided serious, or even half-serious, topics. Small talk was about all we could manage because of his negative feelings towards the _Prophet_. After I'd convinced him that half of the people at the paper hated Rita Skeeter, he became more welcoming and I enjoyed his cheerful company.) Conversely, the beginning of September _also_ meant that I would lose my London beat, which I rather liked because it frequently got my pictures in the _Daily_ _Prophet_, and even the _Sunday_ _Prophet_. And, of course, the beginning of the term meant that the ominous wedding would be less than one month away.

Since I was dreading the beginning of that month so much, September quickly came. The only good to come of the month was that I was able to move out of my small flat in London to a small house in Hogsmeade. The house was not a lot bigger than the flat in London, but the kitchen and the living room were separated by a wall, which I was thankful for.

On the day of the wedding, I spent all morning preparing for the mid-afternoon ceremony. Three months of misgivings about the wedding had hardly motivated me to prepare for it. I scrambled around my house, gathering the equipment and film I would need. I wasn't left with much time to get ready myself. I skipped lunch in order to do something with my hair before Apparating to Tara's aunt's estate, where the wedding and reception were taking place. I had to Apparate twice to get all of my stuff there.

People working at the main, and quite large, house directed me to the back. I levitated my gear and walked around the side of the house. A lovely backyard (if an area so large can be called something so quaint) came into view. The trees were turning colors and falling to the ground. The grass was still bright green and well manicured. A pond with a guesthouse was on one side of the grounds, and a few gardens of varying types were scattered about. A vegetable garden was near a tool shed. A couple of flower gardens were near the house. There was even a small rock garden with a fake waterfall. Small fountains were placed deftly in rather bare areas. Despite the variety of things in the yard, it did not appear cluttered or distasteful, but rather holistic and well thought out.

The photographer in me immediately began focusing on the locations that would offer the best backgrounds for portraits. One of the best was a small, light-wooded gazebo near the center of the yard that unmistakably was where the ceremony would take place, so I headed in that direction.

The people moving around the space quickly came into focus. The wedding was still a few hours away, so no guests had arrived. Several people were working at magically setting up chairs and decorations. I took a couple of shots of the scene before coming into the area. It wasn't until I saw the small group of men in tuxedos goofing around that I realized how nervous I was about seeing everyone again. I felt a strong urge to turn around and run. Or to throw up.

Adam saw me first. "Laura!" he said, starting to walk down the aisle towards me, and the other three men followed.

I met them in the middle of the rather long aisle, holding the biggest smile I could manage and keeping my attention on Adam. I clutched my camera to keep my hands from shaking.

"You haven't met my little brother," Adam said, pulling forward a young man I didn't recognize. I took the opportunity to look at the whole group. Mark and Oliver were smiling politely. Mark nodded slightly when I'd caught his eye, and I nodded back.

"This is Evan," Adam said.

I shifted my camera over to my left hand so that I could shake Evan's extended hand. "Nice to meet you."

"And you."

"Evan just began at Cambridge," Adam said proudly.

"Cambridge?" I asked, impressed.

"It's a university—" Adam started.

"I know it's a university," I interrupted. "It's a very _good_ university."

"Well, one of us had to get the brains," Adam said, laughing pleasantly.

"And one of us had to get the magic," Evan grinned. "Unfortunately, neither of us got both."

Adam punched him playfully.

I realized my smile was much less forced than it had been. I'd missed Adam's sense of humor and way of making people feel more at ease. It appeared as if both he and his brother had gotten those traits.

"I always wanted to go to Cambridge when I was young," I said honestly, directing my comment at Adam's slightly younger brother.

"It's great," Evan said.

"Enough about Evan," Adam said. "How are you?"

"I'm good," I said, taking my camera in both hands again.

"You never came to see me in _Merchant_. I was spectacular."

"You never wrote and told me when it was playing," I said.

"You never wrote and asked." There was a brief pause, which Adam broke with laughter. "I'm in a wizarding production of the same play now. Perhaps you can come to it."

"I did promise to see _one_ show. Might as well get it over with," I joked. I looked around the gazebo. "Where are the girls?"

"Inside getting ready," Mark said, motioning to the main house.

"All right. Just let me take a few pictures of you all standing around before the wedding, and then I'll go say hello."

"OK," Adam said, shrugging carelessly. He was by far the least nervous groom I'd ever seen.

The men hardly moved, apart from shifting their weight from side to side. All of them watched me as I walked a few steps away and focused the camera. We stood there for a minute, me with the camera to my face, ready to take a picture, and them facing the camera, looking somewhere around my stomach with half-smiles on their faces, unsure whether they were supposed to be posing or not.

Finally, blushing, I took the camera down. "Just pretend I'm not here."

"Oh," Mark said. He turned to Oliver. "Well, that shouldn't be too hard for one us."

Oliver muttered something that made Mark laugh but that I couldn't make out. I quickly brought the camera back up to my eye again to hide my cheeks, which were getting even redder.

The group stopped looking at me and started having a fake conversation. I took a couple of quick pictures, thanked them, and headed for the house.

I held out hope that the reunion with the girls wouldn't be as bad. Once I finally tracked down the room someone told me they were getting ready in, I knocked lightly, praying one of Tara's relatives wouldn't come out in a towel or anything equally, or more, embarrassing.

"Yes?" Tara called.

"I… er… it's Laura," I said loudly. "I came early to get set up and get a few shots before the ceremony." I sighed and leaned my head against the door.

The door didn't support my head for long. "Well, why didn't you just come in?" Joan asked, flinging open the door and dragging me into the room.

I was less hesitant to look at the whole group of women than men. Tara was sitting in front of a mirror in a bathrobe while Rose put the bride's hair up into an intricate weave of braids and curls. The process seemed to involve both a lot of magic and a lot of hairspray. The two girls smiled and waved into the mirror, looking at my reflection. Cedar had been looking out of a window and over the grounds, but now was facing me. She smiled kindly and I smiled back over Joan's shoulder, caught in her enthusiastic hug. No one had begun to dress yet.

"How are you?" Joan asked, letting go and pushing me away so she could take in my whole appearance. "You look nice."

I looked down at the purple dress I'd gotten for the event. It was conservative enough that I wouldn't have to worry about my movements while trying to get good shots.

"Thanks," I said. "And I'm fine."

Tara's dress was hanging on a mannequin in the corner of what appeared to be a spare bedroom. It was a quite lovely dress, with a simple sleeveless cut and a short train. The material was so rich looking that a fancier cut would have been over the top.

"Oh, that's quite lovely," I said, automatically bringing the camera up and focusing on the dress, carefully including the window that was lighting the dress in the shot. "That will turn out well."

Cedar laughed. "I don't think I've ever seen Laura take something so seriously. Well, perhaps except…." She coughed. "Joan tells us you're doing well at the _Daily_ _Prophet_."

"Well enough," I said, thankful that Cedar had averted whatever had popped into her mind a moment previously.

"Stop moving," Rose scolded Tara, gaining everyone's attention.

"I'm not moving at all," Tara said, turning her head to look directly at Rose.

Rose took her head gently (I hope.) and made Tara face the mirror again. "You are moving. You're shaking like a leaf."

"I can't help it," Tara said. "There are going to be so many people. The Blotts wouldn't have it any other way."

"You'll be fine. After I finish, you'll look stunning," Rose said.

"She hardly needs your help for that," Joan said, walking behind the two so Tara could see her smiling reassuringly.

"Wouldn't be so bad if Adam was at all nervous. Or could understand why someone would _be_ nervous," Tara said.

"Cold feet?" I mouthed to Cedar, walking over next to her.

Cedar shook her head. "No, just stage fright," she whispered.

I smiled. "Mind if I take some pictures of you all getting ready? A friend told me that those make some of the best wedding pictures."

"Go ahead," Tara said. "It was so nice of you to volunteer to be the photographer, Laura. It's hard choosing people to help that you believe you can trust, so Adam and I were quite relieved when Joan said you'd offered."

I looked at Joan quickly. Her facial expression didn't change a bit. I smiled and looked back at Tara quickly. "My pleasure." I started fiddling with the camera and noticed most of them watching. "This works much better if you just pretend I'm not here."

I spent the next hour with the girls, and I quickly lost that feeling of apprehension that had been hanging around all day. I took my time getting good shots of the girls preparing for the wedding, making sure everyone in each shot was dressed, while still managing to keep up with the conversation, which was relatively normal considering the situation. I was reminded of the later part of our Seventh Year, when all of us were in our dormitory together. I'd belonged then, and I felt as if I belonged with them at the time, despite being the only person present who was not a member of the bridal party.

I reluctantly reminded the girls that there wasn't much more time to take the formal wedding pictures. It had been nice spending time only with them. I wasn't looking forward to seeing all of the Seventh Years together. Yes, naturally, I had missed them. I missed sitting at the Gryffindor table eating breakfast. I missed the hour-long breaks on the evenings while we were taking N.E.W.T.s. I missed seeing my friends suffering through the same classes I was suffering through. _Those_ were the people I'd been friends with; I hardly knew _these_ people, but with the girls, I could forget that. It had been much more difficult to forget while I was with the boys.

Taking the formal pictures didn't go as unpleasantly as I'd expected. We couldn't use the gazebo for the pictures because guests were already filling the seats set up in front of it. However, there was a fountain near the house with trees behind it that made a lovely background for the portraits. The group followed my directions without question, which sped up the process. Only the pictures with the entire wedding party took any significant amount of time at all. Whenever I requested that only certain people be in a shot, the rest gladly left the frame.

After we finished, I left the cheerful group to finish preparing for the ceremony. I walked over to the gazebo to take pictures of the guests, whom I'd heard chattering the whole time I was in the yard. I was used to taking pictures of crowds of people (unlike the staged pictures I'd just finished), so I found it easy to get a few good shots of the people waiting.

The music that had been playing changed to more traditional wedding music, and the groom and groomsmen came out from behind the curtain hanging at the back of the gazebo. I'm _still_ not sure how they got there without anyone noticing. The group walked to their assigned places as the crowd whispered excitedly before quieting down as the music grew louder. I didn't think much about the sudden appearance of Oliver. I was concentrating on my job, which I knew was about to get much more difficult. My goal was to get as many good pictures of the ceremony as possible. I took several pictures of the men waiting for the women in the bridal party to appear before my attention had to go back to the aisle.

It was a lovely ceremony, though I couldn't listen closely to what was being said during it. I noticed a few differences from normal Muggle wedding vows and what the judge from the Wizengamot said, but I was surprised that the ceremony was only _slightly_ different from the Muggle weddings I'd been to. Upon further thought, I suppose it's not that strange that the highly ritualistic events are almost identical in the wizarding and Muggle worlds. The two groups are not as separate as they sometimes appear to be—at least, not among most of the wizarding world, which is largely made up of part-Muggle, part-wizarding families. I noticed a few younger Muggles in the crowd who were entranced by the magical parts of the ceremony. Even Evan, who surely had seen his witch mother do plenty of magic, was obviously impressed by bigger shows of magic than the everyday type he'd grown accustomed to.

It was strange taking pictures while making a conscious effort to stay as unnoticed as possible. While taking pictures for the _Daily_ _Prophet_, I always tried to be unnoticed by the subjects of my photographs, but rarely cared whether anyone else noticed that I was taking pictures. At the wedding, I had to try to be unnoticed by the guests at the ceremony while getting close enough to the bridal party to get decent pictures. It was difficult, but not impossible, and I believe I did rather well.

The vows were exchanged, the couple was presented to the gathering of friends, family and acquaintances, and Adam kissed his bride. I hurried to the end of the aisle to take pictures of the pairs of bridesmaids and groomsmen, and, of course, the bride and groom, as they walked down the aisle through the crowd. By now, I'd impressed on all of them that I did not want them to look at the camera and they obliged. Perhaps Oliver made a bit more of an effort than the rest….

The bridal party formed a reception line behind the seating area so that the guests could congratulate Adam and Tara as they walked from the gazebo to the main house. The bridal party stood at the beginning of the line, slowing down the guests to give people more time with Tara and Adam. I stood near the couple and took photographs of the guests greeting them. The mood was so festive, it was wearing away at my unease again, and I laughed along with everyone else near enough to hear Adam and Evan's jokes. After everyone had moved through the line, I quickly offered Adam and Tara my best wishes before following the crowd up to the main house, where they would welcome the bridal party to the reception.

Tara's family guided the rest of us into a very large room near the front of the mansion. The room had been set up nicely for the event. A long table at the front of the room had one row of chairs facing the many circular tables arranged around an open, circular area for dancing. The crowd was chattering happily and moving to form a circle around the edge of the open area. I followed suit, keeping my camera ready. When we'd all gotten into place, the circle had neither openings nor places where people stood two-deep. The adult wizards in the group took out their wands. Adam's a half-blood, so there were several Muggles in the group, but I noticed that they were not grouped together. I found it somewhat comforting to see no divisions between the two groups.

I was about to ask someone what was going on, but my friends arrived before I could. The crowd started cheering, and the circle broke to let them through. The bridal party walked in, arranged into the pairs in which they'd walked down the aisle after the vows. The four pairs of bridesmaids and groomsmen walked to four points of an invisible square. They stood about halfway between the circle of guests and Adam and Tara, who walked to the middle of the circle, faced each other, and clasped hands. The cheering diminished into silence.

I was mesmerized by this tradition, which was so established that a group of a few hundred people could participate without any discussion. I hardly remembered that I had a job to do. I took a hurried picture of as much of the scene as I could bring into focus before the judge who had presided over the wedding stepped out of the circle (The guests moved to fill in his empty spot.) and walked over to Adam and Tara, who didn't acknowledge his presence, but continued to look at each other.

The judge suddenly raised his hands over his head.

The guests raised their wands. I heard the people near me say, "_Creounum_!" The crowd did not speak in unison, though it was obvious that everyone was performing the same spell.

Even through a camera lens, the sight took my breath away, and I took as many photographs as I could. Thin strands of light came out of every wand and orbited the couple and the judge before streaming above them and knotting together.

The woman on my right placed her hand on top of my camera and pushed down, forcing me to remove the camera from my eye. I looked over at her angrily.

"You, too," she whispered and smiled.

I understood her and smiled back, anger completely leaving me to be replaced with warmth. I took out my wand and repeated the spell I'd watched the others perform. "_Creounum_!"

My own thread of light shot out of my wand, encircled Adam and Tara, and knotted itself with the others' strands. I could feel a slight pulsing coming from the gathering of light.

The judge lowered his uplifted hands onto Tara and Adam's still clasped hands. "Two families become one family. Two groups of people become one community," the judge said loudly enough that everyone could hear. "This is the power of two people coming together.

"You are one."

The people around the circle flicked their wands, cutting the knot from their wands. I quickly mimicked their actions. The knot of light compressed and imploded into a brilliant flash of multi-hued light. Then the crowd cheered again, and Adam and Tara kissed.

Slow music began playing. Adam and Tara put a hand in each other's and their other hands in their proper positions and began dancing.

"Now you'd best start taking pictures again," the woman who'd told me to join the spell said kindly.

"Oh, yes," I said, following orders. I'd been caught off guard by the first dance happening so soon in the reception.

No one else joined in the dancing, which didn't last long. The guests congratulated the couple through applause and cheers at the end of the song and then began seating themselves around the small tables.

I rapidly started to feel very lost. Despite all of the unfamiliar traditions I'd seen, I hadn't felt overly anxious over them. No matter what had happened at the wedding, my role had been well defined by the camera in my hands. However, there was no reason to photograph people sitting for dinner. My role now was the same as everyone else's, only all of the guests had someone to sit with.

"Laura!"

I looked around for the source of the shout. Joan was looking at me, still in the empty area of the room. She motioned for me to come to her as she leisurely walked with the bridal party to the main, rectangular table. I quickly caught up with the slow-moving group.

"You'll join us?" Joan asked, smiling.

"Oh, I… I assumed I'd be sitting with everyone else," I said, feeling my face flush.

Tara turned her head to see the two of us walking behind her. "Of course not."

"But isn't it just the bridal party?"

Tara shook her head. "Close friends and family, too." She motioned towards our destination. "There's a spot for you if you'll have it."

"I… I'm fine with sitting with…." I stopped talking as I realized how rude I was being. It was very kind of her to include me. "Thank you."

Tara smiled and turned her attention back to her husband.

"The photographing going well?" Joan asked.

"Oh, yes, quite well," I said.

"Good!" We were reaching the table and Joan stopped walking. "Unfortunately, I believe we're sitting on opposite sides of the bride and groom. Enjoy your dinner."

"Thank you. You too," I said. I made my way to the opposite end of the table Joan was walking towards. I was still surprised by Tara's kindness at letting me sit with the group. The two of us never had been extremely close, though we never had been at odds with each other, either. I considered the possibility that I had downplayed how close living together for seven years made two people. Or perhaps Tara would have felt bad for leaving me out of the group, even though I hadn't been a part of the group for very long before we graduated. Or, more likely, I decided, Tara was just a very kind person, and she had anticipated that finding a seat likely would have been a very awkward situation for me.

I'd been expecting a seat near the end of the table. As I walked past place cards with other people's names on them, I started doubting that any of my three reckonings were correct, though perhaps a combination of the three was true. When I finally reached my seat, a quick glance at the place cards on either side of me revealed what was likely the real reason I had a seat at the main table: Joan had helped Tara with seating arrangements. My spot was right next to the bridal party. Right next to Oliver.

_Author's Note_: OK. The wedding and the wedding reception were supposed to be in one chapter. That one chapter ended up being forty pages long, so I split it in half. The next chapter will be up very shortly.

Preview: Oliver and Laura, seated next to each other at Tara and Adam's wedding reception, have to choices. They can force themselves to have a conversation, or they can sit in awkward silence. Bear in mind that the wedding reception has its own chapter. Now, which choice do you think they'll make?


	16. Fair Warning

_Author's Note_: Here's the second half of what was going to be i>one /i> chapter about the wedding. This is definitely the more important half, but the other part was quite necessary to set the scene. Can't leap right to a reception without having a wedding ceremony, after all. Even if the reception always is the best part of a wedding.

**Chapter 16: Fair Warning**

Up to that point, my tactics of merely ignoring Oliver as much as possible to avoid as much awkwardness—and perhaps conflict—had been successful. It was clear that I was going to have to take a new approach to the situation—probably the more adult approach to take. After all, I couldn't expect to sit next to Oliver through an entire meal without speaking.

"Oh, shit," I muttered to myself resignedly, looking back and forth between the two place cards, making sure they really did say "Laura Debman" and "Oliver Wood." They did, indeed, say just that. There was nothing to be done. I couldn't sit elsewhere without offending my friends. I set down my camera on the table, pulled out my chair, and used every bit of my self-control to stop myself from collapsing into the seat, defeated.

I had barely had time to start planning my revenge on Joan when movement next to me caught my attention. Oliver had pulled out his chair but was still standing, looking down at me. He was obviously caught off guard, furthering my beliefs that the whole thing had been Joan's idea. Anyone else would have given Oliver some warning. He managed a small smile before sitting down.

_Ian's going to hurt himself laughing when I tell him about this_, I thought. Even a part of _me_ wanted to laugh at the two of us, set up once more by Joan and almost as at odds as we had been the first time she'd decided Oliver and I needed to spend a little time together. The part of me that wanted to laugh helped me return a polite smile.

"How are you?" I asked, not looking away from him.

"I'm all right," Oliver said. "And you?"

"I'm good."

He nodded. "I'm glad. So… work's all right?"

"Oh, yes," I said, smiling a bit more genuinely. "It's not what I ever imagined doing at the _Prophet_," I patted the camera sitting next to my plate, "but it's… great."

"Good."

"And you?" I asked. "Your job, I mean? …You enjoy it?"

"Of course," Oliver said. "It's Quidditch." He didn't quite meet my eyes.

"I guess I didn't need to ask," I said. I paused, realizing I'd probably sounded more hostile than I'd meant to. I added quickly, "But you're doing well. I've seen you in the papers a few times."

"Yes. They're letting me substitute in some real matches now," Oliver said, unable to keep some pride out of his voice, but able to look at me directly again. "Granted, it's only when we're so sure to win, I can't do any real damage."

"It's still really good," I said. I hesitated. "I'm glad."

"Really? Or are you just saying that?" Oliver asked.

I raised my eyebrows. I hadn't expected the conversation to go much farther than small talk and niceties. Of course, I hadn't expected to have to carry on a conversation that would last long enough to get beyond what we'd just said.

"Really," I said.

"Oh." Oliver blushed, just a little. I probably wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't seen it so often. "I'm sorry. I didn't…." He must have decided saying what he didn't do wouldn't have improved the situation.

Everyone in the room had found a place to sit, and food magically appeared on our plates. I gratefully turned to the appetizer, glad to have an excuse to delay the conversation. I turned my head to see who else was near me at the table. I recognized Adam's mother beside me. (I had seen her and her husband greet their son in the reception line.) I didn't recognize the people next to them, but they were older, so I assumed they were some of Adam's grandparents.

I ate the appetizer, which was some kind of croissant wrapped around some type of meat I didn't recognize, though I suspect that if I had known what it was, I wouldn't have eaten it. Oliver started up some small talk with Mark, and I turned my attention to the Adam's parents' conversation, which was rather uninteresting and mainly centered around the wedding that had just occurred. But, at least I felt no obligation to enter it.

"How's Percy?" Oliver asked unexpectedly.

I looked over at him to make sure he was addressing me. He was, and I frowned. "Why?"

"Why?" Oliver asked, furrowing his brow.

"Don't you read the papers?" I said.

"No," Oliver said, "but what does that have to do with Percy?"

"He's been in the paper periodically for the past year and a half."

"For what?" Oliver asked skeptically.

"Murder," I said seriously. I couldn't resist.

"What?" Oliver said, raising his voice in surprise. "You're joking!"

"Of course I'm joking," I said, laughing at him.

"Oh." Oliver half-smiled and then gave into a bit of laughter himself. "So what was he really in the papers for?"

"Work," I said. I briefly told him about how Percy had judged the Triwizard Tournament, then had been in trouble for not noticing warning signs that there was something wrong with his boss, Crouch, and _then_ had been promoted to assisting the Minister of Magic.

"He got promoted after getting in trouble?" Oliver asked.

I shrugged. "I guess the Ministry realized they were being unfair. No one noticed the warning signs that Crouch was under the Imperius Curse. The biggest warning sign was Crouch's almost constant absence from work, which everyone knew about."

"Still…. Not exactly like the Ministry to be that forgiving."

"No. That's what the Weasleys told him." I looked down at my plate, which had the first course on it. It occurred to me that Percy probably wouldn't want Oliver hearing about all of this, though it was a bit late to stop the story.

"I bet Percy took _that_ well," Oliver said sarcastically.

I blew air out of my nose. "Not at all. I don't know exactly what happened. All I know is that now the family isn't speaking to him and vice versa."

"Oh." He picked up his fork to start eating. "That's too bad."

I wasn't sure if he was being sincere or not. I decided not to question him on it.

"It's been coming for a long time. Since Dan died, I think. They've always given him such a hard time…. He would have stopped talking to any other people years ago."

"He deserved most of…." Oliver trailed off and took a bite of… another meat I was unsure about.

"He's never really done anything to any of them. Percy is how he is… which is completely unlike the rest of the Weasleys. They've never understood that."

Oliver looked over. "Or they've never been able to help him loosen up."

"Either way, the family wound up in the same position. It's not their place to try to change him," I said coldly. "It's no one's place."

I picked up my own fork and tried the next dish. It was delicious, even if it was as unrecognizable to me as the appetizer. Oliver and I both turned our attention back to our meals. I didn't eavesdrop on any other conversations because, in some strange way, I knew I was still in the middle of one. I was only vaguely aware that Adam's parents were talking with the presumed grandparent nearest to them and that Mark and Adam's brother were bantering with each other.

It struck me that the discussion Oliver and I had just had about Percy hadn't been unlike any other conversation about Percy that we'd had as friends or while dating. When we got started on a subject, things seemed to go smoothly enough. It was when we stopped talking that our relationship reverted to awkwardness. After looking back on everything, I realized that our relationship _always_ went south when Oliver and I couldn't ("wouldn't" probably would be more accurate) speak to each other. The realization made me want to ask something—anything—to restart the dialogue, but the continuing silence made all topics seem unsuitable. Finally, I resorted to the one thing I knew Oliver would willing talk about with anyone at anytime.

"Tell me about Quidditch," I said after finishing the first course (and losing my excuse not to speak at all).

Oliver had finished the first course a few minutes previously and had been intently looking at his plate, perhaps willing the next course so that the silence would be more acceptable. "What about it?" he asked, looking over at me.

I shrugged. "What you do, I guess. What's it like being on a real team?"

Oliver looked straight ahead into space, but smiled a bit. "Well… we practice a lot. There was never time for enough practice at Hogwarts, with school and all of that. At Puddlemere, when we're not playing matches, we're practicing. Hours a day."

"It doesn't get old?"

"Does it get old taking pictures every day for hours a day?" Oliver asked, shifting his gaze back to me.

"Yes," I said honestly. "Though I don't spend hours a day taking pictures. I spend hours a day looking for something worthy of having its picture taken or waiting for the _Prophet_ to tell me about some event they're covering."

"Oh," Oliver said. "But you enjoy it?"

I smiled. "For some reason."

"I guess it's like that. Professional Quidditch is more monotonous than I'd expected, but I enjoy it, so it doesn't get old."

"And when you're not practicing?" I asked.

"We spend a lot of time traveling. Most of our games are nearby, but it still takes time to fly there."

"You fly?"

"Well… we've all got brooms."

"Why not Apparate? You can bring supplies with you."

"We could, but we've got a fair amount of equipment to bring."

"And plenty of people to Apparate with it."

"Not everyone's that comfortable with Apparition. Anyway, flying gives us time to practice formations and to, as our captain loves to point out, 'increase team bonding.'"

The concept of traveling any other way than by Apparition seemed insane to me. The _Daily_ _Prophet_ staff relied on the fast mode of transportation. I knew a few people at the paper who Apparated between any two places farther apart than a block.

"Seems hard to practice formations while carrying equipment."

Oliver grinned. "The Reserve team does most of the carrying equipment. The real team does most of the practicing."

Talking about Quidditch was making Oliver visibly more relaxed. I'd spent so long being angry with him for placing so much importance on Quidditch, I'd forgotten how much of Oliver _was_ Quidditch.

"And the matches?" I asked before the dreaded silence could take over again.

Oliver laughed, a little reservedly. "I mainly help anchor down the bench."

I smiled at the joke because, despite it being true, he had been joking. "And how is that?"

"My favorite part," he said, and the honesty in his voice shocked me. He must have noticed. "Do you know what it's like to be a part of a team and to _watch_ that team play?" he asked.

"No."

"Neither had I until a year ago. It's like… all of the stress… the pressure is gone, but you still care just as much about the outcome as the people on the field do."

"You don't wish you were out there playing?"

Oliver shrugged. "Sure, a little. It's great fun having fans cheer when I block a goal and when I help the team win. But that doesn't happen often."

I wasn't sure what to say to that. Agreeing, obviously, would have come across badly. Disagreeing would have come across as false flattery; we both knew that Oliver still didn't get to play in real matches that often, although he did very well when he was given the opportunity to prove himself. So I let the comment hang, opening up another period of silence.

"Tell me about the _Daily_ _Prophet_," Oliver said after a few minutes of the two of us looking around the room, pretending as if everything was perfectly normal.

"What about it?"

"What _you_ do."

"It's rather boring," I said, partially apologetically, partially embarrassedly.

Oliver shrugged. "Tell me anyway."

"Well… I cover Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, the two most eventless places in Great Britain. At least as far as the _Prophet_ is concerned, anyway. As I said, I mainly go looking for things to take pictures of. Sometimes Carol, the reporter who covers my beats—do you remember Carol Browning? A year older than us? Slytherin?"

"Vaguely," Oliver said.

"Anyway, Carol tells me when she needs a picture of something specific. Most of the time, she can find a picture from the stock to go with her article."

"What do you mean?"

"Basically, I go around taking pictures of specific places and people. Say something happens at The Three Broomsticks. There are plenty of pictures of the building already taken, as well as of the people who work there. Most of our stories don't involve real _events_, so a generic picture of places and people work fine.

"If there _is_ an event, it's usually preplanned… a club meeting or a competition at Hogwarts or a convention in Hogsmeade, for example. So I go to those events to take pictures. And on the rare occasion that something unplanned happens—real news—I rush to get there, praying there will still be something to take a picture of.

"As I said, it's rather boring stuff," I finished.

"Wouldn't it be easier to take a picture whenever it's needed instead of making a stock?"

"Probably, but then the dark rooms would always have too many people in them. Only the photographers who cover the big events have to develop pictures every day."

"I guess that makes sense. The job keeps you moving, then."

"Yes." I paused, then caught myself. Better to keep talking. "I get to go back to Hogwarts fairly often."

Oliver smiled. "I'm jealous."

I shook my head. "It's different when you don't go to school there. It's… it's still Hogwarts, but…. It's strange. Plus, the professors there aren't the _Daily_ _Prophet_'s biggest fans. It took me half of the summer to convince Hagrid that I had nothing to do with _anything_ Rita Skeeter published about him."

"Er…."

I sighed and shook my head. "You read the paper while we were at Hogwarts."

"Because you told me which articles were worth my time."

"Do you even _get_ the paper?" I asked.

"Yes," Oliver said quickly.

"But you don't read it?"

"Parts of it," Oliver said, getting defensive, admittedly for a good reason: I was getting rather accusatory.

"Sports," I said. I didn't have to ask. He'd been the one to tell _me_ if any articles in that section were worth my time.

"Yes. And the comics," Oliver said. He stalled. "And I try to do the crossword." He knew that wasn't going to improve his case for not keeping up with current events. But it was another section of the paper that he could say he looked at.

"That's it?" I asked.

"No." He turned his head away a little. "I look at the pictures." He could still see me out of the corner of his left eye.

"Oh, the _pictures_," I said mockingly. Then I understood. "Oh." I felt my cheeks starting to get hot, and I faced my plate again, which mercifully had the second course on it. I picked up my fork. "Well… you should skim the front page sometimes."

"I do. Sometimes."

We both started eating, yet again. Despite skipping lunch, I was getting full. The lull in the conversation only lasted a minute before I had to break it. Silence is always awkward, but the pause we were entering into was so uncomfortable, I could almost physically feel it.

"Anyway," I said, "the paper reported that Hagrid is a half-giant."

Oliver didn't say anything for several moments. I'm not sure if he hadn't been expecting me to say anything and was busy trying to figure out what I'd said, or if he had lost track of the conversation we had been having before the… digression. Or maybe he was just finishing chewing before speaking. I don't know. I was still looking at my own food.

"So?" Oliver said, finally. "I thought that was rather obvious."

"Well…the paper exaggerated. Said being a half-giant made him dangerous."

"That's—"

"Preposterous. I know that," I interrupted.

"Then why did you—"

"_I_ didn't. I didn't know anything about the article until I read it with everyone else." I looked at him so he would know I was telling the truth. "Hagrid knows that now, though I still never take his picture…. It's the only way I could think of to make him trust me."

Again, Oliver didn't respond right away. I didn't have to explain why I cared whether or not Hagrid trusted me. Oliver understood how Hagrid had helped me. He'd done the same for Oliver for a longer amount of time, after all.

"Worth it, I'd say," Oliver said.

"Definitely." I sighed. "At least it's easy to keep Hagrid out of the shots. He's always off somewhere working. It's _Potter_ that's difficult."

"You can't take pictures of him either?"

"Harry Potter isn't… getting the best press." I passed up the chance to tell him he'd know that if he read the paper. "Potter was in the background of this picture I took for the stock. Someone printed it. The thing is that _I_ didn't charm it when I developed it. I didn't bother… didn't think anyone would want it. Still, I used the _Prophet_'s supplies, so I had to give them the picture. Someone at the paper took the picture and charmed it to make Potter look like the _Daily_ _Prophet_ thinks he is: crazy."

"I'm lost," Oliver said after taking a moment to process my ramblings.

"I promised someone I'd never charm a picture dishonestly and publish it."

"You didn't."

"The person I promised didn't know that. He wouldn't talk to me for a week. So now… I'm just not taking that kid's picture anymore. Cuffe—he's the editor—is not going to like that much when he finds out."

Oliver was smiling.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing. It's just… nice of you to stand up for Potter."

I shook my head. "I'm not. I'm just not going to let them doctor my pictures."

"Well… right now that's still in Potter's favor."

"I guess," I said.

"What about Dumbledore? I've heard that the paper is being rather harsh on him," Oliver said neutrally. It was a nice change. Normally, when people mentioned how the _Daily_ _Prophet_ was treating Dumbledore and his campaign to let the world know of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return, they were _very_ opinionated.

"I _have_ to take Dumbledore's picture. And he's never tried to stop me." I shrugged. "Actually, he's always polite when I have to see him."

"That's Dumbledore."

"Yes," I agreed. "He's not there often, anyway. He gives the other photographers more of a chance to take his picture. At least the type of picture the _Prophet_ is interested in."

"You don't believe him," Oliver said simply.

"I thought you didn't read the papers," I said, dodging the question.

Oliver smiled. "You don't have to read the papers to have heard what Dumbledore is saying about You-Know-Who."

"No," I admitted. "Do _you_ believe him?"

Oliver didn't answer for a minute. He didn't look away, though he wasn't _really_ looking at me. "I don't think Potter lied," he eventually said, noncommittally, his eyes focusing again.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I've never heard another explanation for how Diggory died. I've only heard the way Potter told Dumbledore it happened," Oliver said simply.

"No. I haven't either," I said slowly.

"And… I didn't get to know the people on my team well. It's what stopped me from being as good of a captain as Dan or Charlie were. But Potter wouldn't lie about something like that. Period. He wouldn't."

"I don't know why he would," I admitted.

"But you still don't believe him," Oliver said.

"Well… I don't know why he would lie, Oliver, but what he says doesn't make sense. People don't come back from the dead."

"Some argue that You-Know-Who's not a person."

I rolled my eyes. "There's a difference between being not being a good person and not being _human_."

"I agree. Dumbledore says that You-Know-Who never _died_."

I didn't answer right away. Of course, I'd read all of the reports of Dumbledore saying the same thing. There was no good response to it. "I think if You-Know-Who _were_ back, there would be signs," I eventually said.

Oliver nodded. "I've thought about that."

"I hope they're both wrong. I'm not saying Potter and Dumbledore are lying. I just hope it's not true," I said quietly.

Oliver nodded again. He managed a thin smile. "I hope the same thing."

I smiled back. It was true that Oliver had never been good at forming relationships with the people on his Quidditch team—something Dan did naturally. In that sense, Dan was a better captain than Oliver was. I wondered if Oliver, while leading the Gryffindors, had used the skill that could make him a great captain; he could be comforting and realistic about a negative situation at the same time.

A slight increase in the chatter in the room at large and movement at the main table caught my attention. Adam and Tara were standing, presumably getting ready to walk somewhere.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Cake time," Oliver said happily. "They're going to serve the cake."

I thought Oliver simply meant that Adam and Tara were going to cut the first piece and share it—a classic photographic moment. Though they did do this, and I got a couple of damned good pictures of it, Oliver truly had meant that the couple would serve the guests. Mark, the best man, cut the cake, and Tara and Adam delivered the pieces to the guests patiently waiting at their circular tables. I sensed that it was an important tradition among the wizards, so I dutifully took several pictures. I also had an opportunity to pay more attention to who was at the wedding, which made me more appreciative of how important Tara's aunt was in the wizarding world. Several high-ranking officials in the Ministry were there, although the Minister himself was not. Many guests appeared to be wealthy. I saw more people from school, like Flint and Dave, whom I'd expected to see earlier in the day. I even caught sight of Oliver's parents, whom I _hadn't_ expected to see. …I took that picture from a distance.

The bridal party and other guests at the main table were served last, which I guess was appropriate, seeing as they were the hosts. It worked out well for me because I could sit and eat cake with everyone else.

"This is marvelous," I said after sitting and immediately trying the cake.

"Oh, I'm glad you like it," Adam's mother said. "Tara and I worried about how it would turn out."

"You made it?"

"Naturally. The bride and future mother-in-law always make the wedding cake."

"You're kidding," I said.

"Of course not," she said, laughing. "Gives the mother-in-law a chance to see the bride's cooking skills." She winked and turned back to the conversation she'd been previously engaged in with her husband.

"That is a bizarre tradition," I said aloud to myself.

Oliver laughed. "It is rather odd, I guess. I've never thought much about it."

"I'm going to fail that test, I'm afraid," I said, going for another bite of the cake.

I could almost swear that Oliver choked a bit on his dessert. He covered it well, quickly taking a sip of wine to wash down the bite.

"Are you getting married?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant and _almost_ managing _not_ to fail miserably.

"No," I said quickly. "I mean, I hope eventually, but not…." I laughed. He seemed too embarrassed for me to be embarrassed by his question. "I'm not engaged, if that's what you mean."

"Oh," Oliver said simply. He laughed a little, too. "I guess I misunderstood."

"I guess," I said, still grinning.

Oliver took another bite of cake, so I did the same. "Dating anyone?" he asked after swallowing with the aid of another sip of wine.

I swallowed the bite of cake I'd just taken. "Yes."

"You are?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes," I said, a bit defensively.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I just… Joan didn't say… I mean…."

I grinned. "You mean she's kept you up to date on what I'm up to."

Oliver smiled back. "I see I'm not the only one getting updates."

"No," I said. "Are you dating anyone?"

"No," Oliver said. "I mean… I'm not dating any one person."

"Oh, I see," I said, laughing.

He laughed, too. "That's not what I meant. I just mean I'm not dating anyone seriously."

"I know that's what you meant. I'm giving you a hard time."

He nodded, acknowledging that he knew that, too. "But you are? Dating one person, I mean?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Do I know him?" he asked, going for another sip of wine.

I decided wine wasn't the worst idea. "Um... you might."

He raised his eyebrows, surprised.

"Elliot Murphy?" I said.

"The sports reporter?" Oliver asked.

"That's him."

He blinked. "You _hate_ the sports section."

I laughed. "That's not true."

"You never even read the sports articles I pointed out to you while we were eating breakfast at Hogwarts," Oliver said.

"I skimmed them. Anyway, I might not care much about the topic, but I like the people in the sports section. Do you know Ian Mallory?"

"Yes," Oliver said, a bit hesitantly.

"He's one of my good friends. Got me into photography."

"He's a good photographer," Oliver said. "Nice guy, too."

I laughed. "Nice enough, I guess. You'd like him. He's a lot like Percy."

"I thought you said I'd like him," Oliver interrupted.

I cocked my head and lowered my eyebrows in a mild reprimand. "He's like Percy without the reasons you don't like Percy."

"Fair enough."

"I almost agreed to bring him. I kind of wish I had, now," I said.

"Why not bring Elliot?"

"Oh, well… I didn't want to have to leave him all of the time to take pictures. It wouldn't have been very much fun for him."

"He agreed not to come anyway?" Oliver asked.

I frowned at him. "No."

Oliver looked confused for a moment and then smiled a bit. "You didn't tell him about the wedding."

"No," I said, defensively, "in order to save him from the boredom." And myself from the awkwardness… but I wouldn't admit that to Oliver. "Did _you_ bring anyone?" I asked.

"No. As you said, it wouldn't have been much fun for anyone while I did groomsman stuff," Oliver said.

"You understand then." I took a big bite of the cake.

"But I didn't have a steady girlfriend to ask," Oliver said.

I took my time chewing before swallowing and replying, "No. You don't."

I'd made my point. We ate the rest of our cake quickly compared to everyone else. The cake was rich and the others were engaged in conversations, which slowed them all down. For the first time, the silence wasn't awkward, which I was thankful for, even if the alternative to awkwardness was mild hostility.

"Elliot is a nice guy," Oliver said after we'd both spent a few minutes sipping wine because we didn't have any wedding cake left.

I looked over at him. It had been as much of an apology as I was going to get. "He is. And he's a Puddlemere fan." It was as much of an apology as I was going to give.

Oliver smiled. Some soft music started playing. I looked around for the source but could find none.

"It's an orchestra in the other room. The sound is coming in here magically," Oliver said.

"Oh."

"What did you think about the Binding Ceremony?" he asked after a few moments.

"The Binding Ceremony?"

"What happened right after we all came in here," Oliver gestured towards the whole room. "You've never seen a Binding before, right?"

"Oh. No, I haven't. It was… amazing." I smiled and, for some reason, started blushing. I laughed to try to rid myself of the sudden embarrassment. "Where did it come from?"

"It's the traditional wizard wedding ceremony," Oliver said. "Well… part of it. Most weddings now are mostly like the Muggles' weddings. Pureblooded families still have purely wizard weddings. The Binding Ceremony's the only part worth keeping, really. It's the important part."

"Does it really do anything?" I asked. "I mean… really bind the bride and groom?"

Oliver squinted, thinking. "Kind of. Really, the spell is more for the guests. Performing the spell brings people closer together with people they don't know well."

"The whole 'Two groups of people become one community' thing?" I asked.

"Yes. Exactly. It makes people feel more like a community."

"But it does nothing for the couple?"

"It's a magical contract. It's the only way to make the Ministry acknowledge the marriage. That's why the guests perform the spell—a Muggle would be unable to. This way, the Ministry can acknowledge marriages between a Muggle and a wizard or witch."

"That makes a lot of sense," I said, rather surprised that something at the Ministry was that simple, yet logical.

"Yes," Oliver said, laughing at my amazement.

He continued to explain where some of the differences between Muggle and magical weddings came from, such as the first dance happening right after the Binding. As we talked, some of the guests started walking into the empty area of the room to dance. At first, they were just a few kids messing around. Then adults started joining in, older couples first, then younger couples. Still, there weren't enough dancers to really catch many people's attention. By then, most people were more concerned about their wine than anything else.

"Would you like to dance?" Oliver asked as we watched the people on the floor, after I'd exhausted Oliver's knowledge of wizard weddings.

I looked over at him quickly. "Me?" I asked stupidly.

Oliver laughed. "No, Mark," he said.

Mark turned away from his conversation with Evan, Adam and the girls. "Yeah, mate?"

"Nothing. Never mind," Oliver said, turning to him.

"Then why'd you say my name?" Mark muttered, turning his back on us.

Oliver faced me again. He didn't say anything for a minute, and I rather hoped he'd just forget he'd asked. "What do you say?"

_Damn_.

"I… don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not? For old time's sake," he said, still holding his smile.

"That's why," I muttered, going for the wine glass again. The glass never emptied, which I didn't notice until that moment.

"I don't mean anything by it, Laura," Oliver said seriously.

That hurt more than I'd thought it would have.

"Just that… neither of us brought a guest," he continued. He'd lost his smile.

"I know what you mean, and I know neither of us brought a guest," I said. "I just… don't want to dance."

He nodded once. "That's fair enough."

"Thank you for asking, though," I said. My forced and automatic politeness made me want to laugh at myself. Or maybe I wanted to cry. I wasn't sure then, and I'm not sure now.

He nodded once more. "Forget I asked."

"I'm sorry," I said, bringing a hand up to place on his forearm, but I changed my mind halfway and put my hand on my camera instead. "I should really get back to my job," I said, picking up the camera and placing the strap around my neck.

"Yeah. I understand," Oliver said. One more nod. "I'll see you later."

"Yes," I said, standing. I moved out of my chair and walked around the table and among the dancers. More and more people were joining in the festivities, which I was thankful for. It meant that I really _should_ be with them, photographing.

_You did the right thing_, I told myself over and over. I knew dancing with Oliver wouldn't have turned out well. It had nothing to do with Elliot; if he would have found out I'd danced with a friend, even an ex-boyfriend, it wouldn't have bothered him. (Of course, Elliot never would have found out.) I didn't want to dance with Oliver because I knew that dancing with him wouldn't have turned out well; it hadn't turned out well after I'd danced with him the first time.

The activity on the dance floor distracted me enough to concentrate on what I came to the wedding to do: photograph the event for Adam and Tara. Soon, the newlyweds joined the dancing, which encouraged more guests to join. I forgot about everything except capturing the fun on film.

After an hour, it was obvious that I wasn't getting anything different. It was going to take me hours to develop all of the film from the wedding, and I already knew that I was going to get tired of looking at and charming the pictures of people in strange, mid-dance step poses. I stood off to the side of the dance floor to look for something worthy of having its picture taken. It was only a matter of time—probably a _short_ amount of time—before the endless amounts of wine would start resulting in interesting events. As I surveyed the crowd, I noticed Oliver and Joan dancing. I watched for a minute. She noticed me and waved, and I waved back before turning my attention back to scoping for something photographic.

"Good evening."

I looked to my left quickly. Mr. Wood was standing beside me, watching the dancing, too. Déjà vu struck rather hard and unpleasantly as I remembered the last time Mr. Wood had come up beside me while I watched a group of people dancing. I couldn't prevent a small groan. "Good evening," I said quickly afterwards, hoping Mr. Wood didn't notice my displeasure at seeing him. He didn't look over, so I looked back to the crowd.

"Lovely wedding," he said simply.

"Yes," I agreed, wishing he would go ahead and say what he wanted to say.

He didn't make me wait long. "I tried to warn you."

"What?" I asked confusedly, turning my head quickly.

He still watched the dance floor. "To leave him alone," Mr. Wood said, keeping his tone polite.

I hadn't expected Mr. Wood to say anything pleasant, but I was still caught off guard by being trapped in this already disagreeable conversation. I grasped for a response and decided to go with the 'It wasn't my fault' approach. "Look… no offense, but it wasn't my fault that things turned out how they did."

Mr. Wood stopped watching the dancers and finally looked at me, which was at least a little better. It made me uncomfortable when people refused to make eye contact. "You didn't see it coming?"

"No," I said bluntly. _I_ didn't _see Oliver breaking up with me for an illogical reason_, I thought. "You _did_?"

"Of course. The relationship obviously wasn't going to last forever. The end of your schooling was the most predictable time for one of you to break it off." Still a very calm voice. It made me wonder where Oliver got his tendency to shout when he was angry.

I felt my temper rising quickly. "What do you mean it _obviously_ wasn't going to last forever?"

"I know my son."

"I did, too."

Mr. Wood regarded me for several seconds. "Obviously not well enough."

"Obviously," I snapped. "Did you talk him into it? Into breaking up with me?"

Unexpectedly, Mr. Wood's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "No." He shook his head. "He hadn't told me yet."

"That he'd made Puddlemere?" I asked.

"No. That he was dating you."

I thought about that for a few seconds, but it still wasn't making sense. "What do you mean he hadn't told you?"

"What I said."

"He tells you everything," I countered suspiciously.

"He did. But not that," Mr. Wood said. He narrowed his eyes a bit. "He never told you he hadn't told me?"

"No!" I said, my anger directing itself at another target. I scanned the crowd again. Oliver was still dancing with Joan, his back to the two of us, which was lucky for him. "But he told you after we'd broken up?"

"Yes," Mr. Wood said.

"He knew that's what you'd want to hear," I spat, my anger getting the best of me.

"Probably," Mr. Wood admitted nonchalantly.

"I'm sure you assured him that he'd made the right choice."

"He _did_ make the right choice. For both of you. You're _both_ doing well."

I shook my head. He'd struck a nerve when he'd told me Oliver had kept the relationship a secret from his father, the one person he told everything. Suddenly, the anger I'd felt when Oliver had broken up with me, which had almost disappeared over the course of the year, and definitely during dinner, was back. But when Oliver had broken up with me, I hadn't questioned the _relationship_ at all—only Oliver's intelligence. Now… doubts about why he would have kept the relationship a secret leapt into my mind.

"I just wanted you to know that I tried to help you both," Mr. Wood said with that same infuriatingly calm voice.

I blew air out of my nose. "Thanks," I said before walking away. It was rude, but not undeserved. And I had to get away.

I walked out of the room and into the entryway of the large house. The entryway's ceiling was three floors up and had a large chandelier hanging from it. It was a typical entryway for a typical large house of a typical rich family. I let out my anger by continuing to mentally tear apart the room. The walls were painted pure white. Family portraits hung on the walls all of the way up, despite the fact that no one could _possibly_ see the ones on the top. The front door was made of a very dark wood that looked out of place in the light-colored room. I've never been back to that house, but I remember the entryway quite well. In fairness, I _was_ overly harsh on that room. But taking my anger out on the entryway let me walk back into the hall where the wedding reception was taking place and keep doing my job without being unkind to anyone who came across my path…, which did not include Oliver.

At around eleven o'clock, a high-pitched bell sounded over the music that was playing. As the bell became more noticeable, the music stopped and other bells, all with different, high pitches, joined the first. I walked through the crowd, trying to find the source of the ringing, but it wasn't easy. The guests were excited and were talking more than normal (which was saying something considering the amount of alcohol the roomful of people had gone through), and the bells didn't sound as if they were coming from one area. Eventually, I did discover one of the bells. Joan was holding a silver bell with a wooded handle over her head and ringing it energetically. Evan was nearby her, and he too had a silver bell.

"What's going on?" I asked the nearest person to me, which happened to be a young girl, who was probably about ten years old.

She looked up at me as if I was the village idiot. "The bride and groom are getting ready to leave."

"For the honeymoon?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, implying by her tone that it had been a stupid question.

"Thank you," I said, moving farther into the crowd.

It didn't take long to find Adam and Tara saying goodbye to the guests huddled around them. Tara's mother was crying a bit, but she was smiling. I'm sure I didn't as strongly feel what she was feeling, but I did understand the tears. It was a little sad to see my two friends leaving the room as husband and wife after knowing them as boyfriend and girlfriend for so long. They seemed like different people than the Gryffindors I'd sat in class with. Perhaps Oliver had been more literal about the effects of the Binding Ceremony than I'd thought. Maybe the Binding really did make the guests see the couple as one entity in a community.

My feelings didn't stop me from taking photos. And my aching back didn't stop me from reveling in the fact that as soon as they left, the rest of the guests, including me, would be free to go. Adam and Tara wouldn't care if they had pictures of the party breaking up.

I hugged Tara and Adam hurriedly right before the large group of friends, family and acquaintances pushed the couple towards the entryway and out of the front door. I instinctively looked for the white stretch limousine that should have been sitting outside of the building, waiting for the newlyweds. Nothing was waiting for Adam and Tara. They moved out from the crowd, gave the crowd a wave and Disapparated to somewhere in London to catch a Portkey to Italy. (It's crazy to attempt to Apparate that far.)

The company moved back into the house quickly. It was a rather chilly September, almost November, evening. The departing of the couple made an immediate impact on the mood of the guests. I expected that everyone would be gone by midnight. I planned to be back in my small house in Hogsmeade within half an hour.

My equipment was in a small room right off of the main entranceway. I went straight there after going back into the building. It was going to take me several minutes to put away my camera and the film I still had with me. I couldn't find the light switch in the room, so I left the door open and moved my gear close to the doorway so that I could see what I was doing. I only looked up from my task when a rare, usually drunk, person would greet me on his or her way past the room, feeling some need to praise my skills at staying out of sight or other almost backhanded 'compliments.'

I was almost ready to leave when Oliver stuck his head in the doorway. I would have already been gone if I hadn't been trying to arrange my stuff in some way that would allow me to only Apparate home once. I'd gone through the same process earlier in the day, but I was still holding out hope that it was possible to make it in one trip. Apparition wasn't difficult for me; I'd had plenty of practice while working for the _Prophet_. But it still takes concentration, and I was exhausted.

"Do you need help?" Oliver asked politely.

"No," I said, looking even more intently at the equipment, which at least showed me that there was no way I was going to get everything home in one trip.

"Are you leaving?" he asked.

"Yes."

He paused. "Is something wrong?"

I looked up. "No," I lied.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," I said impatiently.

He knew I was lying. I could tell that he knew just as easily as he could sense the lie. "OK," he said slowly, unconvinced.

"I'll come say goodbye to you all before I leave," I said, and I winced at my coldness.

So did he. "OK," he said, but he didn't leave. "I just… wanted to talk to you about something before you leave."

"Go ahead," I said.

He nodded and hesitantly stepped into the room, blocking my light. I stopped uselessly moving around my stuff and stood up as straight as I could, ignoring my back's complaints.

"I don't want to scare you," Oliver said.

I lowered my eyebrows and frowned even more than I had been. I don't know what I thought he wanted to talk about, but I certainly wasn't expecting him to _scare_ me. I was expecting him to piss me off.

"Laura… if You-Know-Who _is_ back, you need to be careful."

I was only more confused. "Yes," I agreed. "So do you."

He nodded in that way he did when he agreed with my statement, but when I had completely missed his point. "Everyone does," he said. "You need to be more careful than most."

"What do you mean?"

"You have access to Hogwarts," he said, "and Harry Potter's at Hogwarts."

"So is Dumbledore," I said.

"Exactly. If… if You-Know-Who wants to get to Potter, he won't be able to just walk in. _You_ can just walk in."

"Are you saying that You-Know-Who's going to try to use me to get into Hogwarts?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

"I'm saying that it's not a bad idea, which means he very well might think about it, yes," Oliver said quickly. "You haven't thought about this," he noticed, sounding a bit surprised.

"No."

He nodded. "That's what I was worried about when you said you didn't think You-Know-Who was back."

"_You've_ been thinking about this," I said.

"That's why Dumbledore's been trying to spread his message as much as possible," Oliver said. "So people _will_ think about these things. I'm surprised he hasn't talked to you personally about this."

"He must not think it's—"

"He must be extraordinarily busy," Oliver interrupted. "Like I said, I'm not trying to scare you. I'm just telling you to plan for this in case it _does_ become an issue."

"What am I going to do about it?" I asked. "If he comes and tells me to help him and I refuse, he'll kill me. If he uses the Imperius Curse, I won't be able to do anything about it. I'm dead or he uses me to get into Hogwarts. Two wonderful choices there."

Oliver shook his head. "Just… protect your house. You still live in Hogsmeade, alone?"

"Yes."

"Put up some spells to protect the house. The Ministry has a list of good ones and can help you with them. Make it so you, or anyone else, can only get in through the front door or the fireplace. Make sure you can always Disapparate from the house. Have people watching for the Imperius Curse. Like Ian. Or Elliot."

I nodded. "OK."

"OK," Oliver said, sounding relieved.

"Are you doing these things?"

"Yes," Oliver said. He smiled. "My best bet is just to stay out of everything. That's everyone's best bet."

"It's easier for you. You don't work for a newspaper," I said.

"I know. Look… if you ever need to get away fast, Apparate to my parents' house. No one would expect you to go there, and there's plenty of space to hide if it comes to that."

I thought about his offer for about two seconds. "I don't think your parents would appreciate—"

"They would never turn you away, if that's what you mean."

I wasn't so sure, and it must have shown on my face.

"They won't. Go there. Then we can help you."

"OK," I said, tears starting to enter my eyes. I forced a laugh to calm myself down. "You _are_ scaring me a little."

"I'm sorry," Oliver said sincerely. "I just wanted to make sure you had a plan."

"I will," I promised. "Thank you, Oliver."

He smiled and nodded. "You're welcome. Ready to say goodbye to the rest of the group?"

"Yeah." I almost tripped over the equipment lying in front of me, which I'd completely forgotten about. I walked around it as gracefully as I could.

"I saw that," Oliver said, smirking a little.

"Saw what?" I asked ignorantly.

"Never mind."

I smiled. "Saw me almost fall on my face?"

He laughed. "Something like that, yes."

"Oliver?"

"Yep?" he asked.

"Why didn't you tell your dad we were dating?"

His smile faltered quite visibly. "I did."

"While we were dating," I specified.

"Oh," he said. "Does it matter?"

I thought about it for a few seconds. I wasn't angry anymore. I knew that his warning very well could save my life… maybe others' lives, as well. The issue of whether or not Oliver told his dad about our past relationship seemed pale in comparison to what everyone could be facing if what Dumbledore said was true. "No," I admitted.

"I thought he'd try to talk me out of it," Oliver said, answering my question anyway.

"Would he have?"

"He'd have tried."

"Would it have worked?"

Oliver shook his head.

"You should have told him."

"Yes," Oliver admitted.

I shrugged a little. "Oh well."

Oliver blinked. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

Another pause. "You're not angry?"

"Not anymore." I smiled, genuinely at first, but it go more and more difficult to hold. "After all… it's done. It doesn't really matter anymore."

He looked at me carefully in the light coming from the entryway. No one was walking by anymore. I shifted a little under the scrutiny.

"No. I guess it really doesn't," Oliver said slowly.

"I'd better go say goodbye before I'm too tired to Apparate home."

Oliver followed me into the hall the reception was taking place in. Already, the crowd had significantly decreased in size. It was easy to find the rest of the bridal party standing near the main table.

"Write to us," Joan said after I'd hugged her and the rest of the girls.

"I _do_ write when I get letters first," I said, smiling. "Write to me and you'll get a reply," I said to the group at large.

"Don't forget to come say hello sometime," Cedar said. "We work too close for you not to."

"I will. We'll plan lunch sometime."

She nodded and smiled.

"Rose and I will come, too. We're in London," Mark said, shaking my hand.

"Come with Ian to see a match sometime," Oliver said. "You might enjoy it."

I laughed. "Start reading the paper. You might learn something."

"That's a fair trade." He stepped forward and hugged me. "Be careful."

I returned the hug, but let go quickly. "I will. You, too."

I said goodbye to the group at large, walked to the small room, and Disapparated with half of my stuff directly into my living room. Oliver's warning came to mind, and I realized how unsafe it was that anyone could Apparate into the house. It didn't stop me from Apparating into the house on the second trip, predicting how much I was going to miss doing so once I followed Oliver's advice, which I did the very next day.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named showed himself to people in the Ministry of Magic, including the Minister himself, at the end of that year. The _Daily Prophet_ retracted its statements about Potter and Dumbledore, admittedly in a very small note in the middle of an issue full of many articles that were more important. Things started getting bad for the whole nation, including the Muggles, not long afterwards. Oliver sent a brief note making sure that I'd acted upon his warning at the wedding.

_Dear Oliver,_

_I went to the Ministry of Magic the day after the wedding and put up as many of their recommended defensive spells as I could. Ian agreed to watch for the Imperius Curse, as did Professor Dumbledore, whom I spoke to not long after you warned me about the danger I might pose to his school under the 'worst circumstances,' as he called it. He even put some more powerful spells on my house, so I should be very safe there. _

_Professor Dumbledore wants me to thank you for looking out for your friends and for his students._

_Hope all is well,_

_Laura_

It was the fourth or fifth draft of the letter. I didn't get a response.

_Author's Note_: We've crossed the three-hundred page mark. I don't know whether to put an exclamation point behind that or not.

I'm not sure when the next chapter will be finished, but I'm hard at work on it. Please stay with me. We truly are in the home stretch now. :)

Next chapter: There's a chance meeting in Diagon Alley. And that's all I'm going to say because I don't know where this next chapter is going to end. (I have a feeling it could end up like this last chapter—too long to be one single chapter.)


	17. Four Years Later

_Author's Note_:

I know it has been quite a while since the last update. Thank you for your patience and for all of the polite reviews/e-mails telling me to get my rear in gear. This is the first of three completed chapters. The other two will be up soon.

**Chapter 17: Four Years Later**

"So you're finally giving up the Hogwarts beat?" Ian asked me as he gave some of the _Daily_ _Prophet's_ money to the cashier at Photographic Parchment, Inc., the only photography supply store in Diagon Alley. The photography division of the newspaper had a contract with the store. We'd do all of our business with them in exchange for modest discounts. It worked well for the photographers to have the shop there. We could walk down the street to get more film and photography paper whenever we needed it, and the owners knew all of us well and were quite helpful.

"I figure it's time to pass Hogwarts down to the new guy," I said, examining a camera lens carefully. I decided I didn't need it and put it back down in its display next to the counter.

"The new guy's been waiting for almost two years," Ian said, laughing as he took the receipt and the chemicals we'd purchased for the Developing Potion from the cashier.

I grinned. "And now that Harry Potter is out of there, he can have it. You know, I never realized how much more exciting Hogwarts got after Potter got there. You-Know—Voldemort—living in the same body as the D.A.D.A teacher, the Chamber of Secrets opening, Sirius Black breaking into the castle… all because of one student."

"In other words, now the Hogwarts beat is boring again?" Ian asked, opening the door for me as we walked out into Diagon Alley, which was back to its pre-war levels of traffic.

"_Extremely_ boring," I agreed, laughing. "I thought the Christmas Holiday would never come. The new photographer can have the beat. I'm happy with London and Diagon Alley—"

"Which you stole from me," Ian joked. I hadn't stolen any beat from him. He'd been dying to get rid of the Diagon Alley beat so that he could completely concentrate on sports, mainly Quidditch.

"You gave it to me," I said, maneuvering through the post-Christmas crowd towards the _Prophet_ office. "Anyway, the Diagon Alley beat is too dangerous for a father," I said, smirking up at him.

That wasn't true anymore, either. Really, the Diagon Alley beat had never been more dangerous than any other beat during the war, but it gained that reputation at the _Prophet_'s office because that was the only beat all of us at the paper had to deal with. Since we all knew the dangers, we all exaggerated those dangers while talking to one another. Ian became a celebrity in the office for having the courage to photograph the damage the Death Eaters did to any business on the street that did not support them them. The Ministry had Aurors in Diagon Alley at all times, but thankfully, the _Daily_ _Prophet_ had extra protection, which saved our office—and many lives—more than once.

"How is Sarah doing?" I asked more seriously.

"She's doing great. She misses work, but I think she's still planning on spending more time at home with Brandon," Ian said, smiling proudly, as he always did while talking about his family.

"How old is Brandon now…?" I said.

"Sixteen weeks," Ian said a bit impatiently because I asked every week. "Born at the end of August, remember?"

"Yes," I said. I always remembered how old Ian's son was after he told me. I just had difficulties keeping track of how much time was passing. Time had been going so fast since… I was eleven.

"I have to stop by Quality Quidditch Supplies to look into whether or not the owner can get me and my camera a sneak peek at the new broom that Nimbus is releasing," Ian said, adjusting his path—and hence mine—accordingly. "You can tag along if you'd like. It won't take long."

I shrugged. It was either go to the Quidditch shop for a few minutes or go back to the dark room and start making Development Potion that much sooner. If I waited for Ian, he would probably make the potion while I 'helped' by staying out of his way. Sure, I could make the potion, but he was better at it.

After silently debating my options, less work won out. "All right," I agreed. We were almost at the door of the shop anyway.

I let Ian approach the storeowner alone. It was easier to convince people to let one person in on a secret than it was to get them to agree to tell a secret to a group. I wandered down an aisle of the shop, barely looking. The only thing in the whole store that could keep my attention was in the window front. I walked over to the display meant to be seen from the opposite direction. An array of Golden Snitches that could be charmed not to fly away from a small area (for use in yards without the benefit of the walls of Quidditch stadiums) sat on stands holding them down. The Snitches weren't professional grade, but they looked the same. I'd found Snitches to be quite pretty since Oliver had shown Percy and me a box of Gryffindor's Quidditch supplies. That had been about a month before he'd tried out for the team.

There were many people walking by the storefront because of that post-Christmas surge in shoppers. Still, the top of a little kid's head popping into view caught my attention. I watched the young boy with dark hair and darker eyes peeking at the Snitches. After several moments, he realized that I was looking at him, and his eyes lit up a bit more, which I suppose meant that he smiled at me. (He was too short for his mouth to be in view.) The kid brought his hand up and waved.

I laughed and waved back. One of the adults walking by stopped behind the boy and looked to see at whom the child was waving.

I stopped waving, but shock prevented me from lowering my arm for several seconds. Oliver hardly seemed to notice my raised arm. He'd frozen when he'd seen me in the window display, too.

Both of us snapped out of our astonishment at about the same time. I walked to the door, where Oliver met me, smiling pleasantly.

"What are you doing here?" Oliver asked, surprise still very evident in his voice. We stepped out of the doorway and into the store so that customers could enter and leave the shop as they pleased.

"I'm running errands for the _Prophet_," I said, smiling up at him.

I was happy to see him. I'd hardly heard a word from Oliver since Adam and Tara married, which had been about four years previously. I had sent Christmas cards (always late), but I'd never written much to him. His responses were always equally short. After all, we would have had to have written pages in order to get beyond what Joan already told us about each either. (Even Joan didn't write as often as she had; exchanging a letter with her once a month seemed frequent.)

"How are you?" I asked, reaching up to hug him friendlily.

"I'm good," Oliver said, returning the hug with one arm.

When I stepped back, I noticed why. Oliver was holding the hand of the little boy from the window. Surprise washed over me again, probably even more than it had right after I'd seen Oliver. The boy, who appeared to be three or four years old, was smiling up at me, rocking a little, which was making Oliver's arm sway slightly, too.

"And who—how—are you?" I asked the boy, smiling back at him; it was hard not to smile, although not as hard as it should have been.

"Good," the kid answered, still grinning.

"This is Bernard," Oliver said, still looking at me.

My surprise at seeing Oliver unexpectedly and my surprise at seeing Oliver with a little kid were added to my surprise upon hearing the boy's name. "You named him Bernard?" I asked, not hiding my feelings on the name.

"No!" Oliver said immediately, making a small face. "Of course not. His mother did."

"And you went along with it?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"Well…." Oliver shrugged and shook his head. "I didn't really have a choice in the matter."

"No choice? In his _name_?"

Oliver didn't say anything for a few seconds. At first I thought he was confused, but then he smiled a little and said, "His mum liked 'Bernard.' Who would I be to go against his mother?"

"Who _is_ his mother?"

"Celeste," Oliver said simply, as if the name should mean something to me.

Ian had walked over next to me. "No luck on the broom," he said before seeing in whose company I was. I hardly noticed his comment.

"Who's Celeste?" I asked Oliver after failing to think of a single person named that.

"My mum," Bernard chimed in, still gazing up at me.

"Oh," Ian said quietly to himself. He started to walk away, but I grabbed his arm impulsively to keep him there.

The four of us stood in our small square for several moments. I could see the whole group, but my focus was on Oliver, who was looking at Ian curiously, but with recognition. Ian was looking down at Bernard, and Bernard was moving his stare from adult to adult, trying like the rest of us to figure out what was going on.

"Did you marry his mother?" I asked Oliver, finally. I said it accusingly and meant it that way because I was almost positive that if Oliver's engagement or wedding announcement had been in the _Daily_ _Prophet_, I would have noticed it.

Oliver switched his gaze back to me. I didn't think anything else could surprise me. Oliver's wide smile did. Seeing my anger made Oliver quickly break into laughter.

The other three of us watched for several seconds with blank expressions.

"What's so funny?" Bernard asked Oliver.

"That," I said seriously, "is a good question."

The group waited for a response.

Oliver calmed down enough to answer, "Bernard—whom I had no part in naming—is my _cousin_."

I blinked. "Your cousin?" I asked emotionlessly, my supply of astonishment running dry.

Oliver nodded, still laughing "My _Aunt_ Celeste's son."

The name clicked. Oliver's Aunt Celeste. Mr. Wood's younger—much younger—sister. The woman who'd trapped Oliver and me in a net during the New Year's game of Wizards and Warlocks.

"Your cousin," I repeated thickly.

Ian had more than enough information to understand the joke, and he added his laughter to Oliver's. That only increased Oliver's response to the situation, and it took almost no time for Ian and Oliver, who were building off each other, to be in hysterics.

"I don't get it," Bernard said, looking up at Oliver…, his cousin.

I looked down at Bernard, the only other person there not laughing. I knew I was blushing furiously. Again, Bernard seemed to sense that I was looking at him, and he returned the gaze, waiting for an explanation.

I smiled at him, which quickly turned into a broad grin. I brought my hand up to cover my eyes as I started laughing, too. Bernard's last comment and expectant stare had made me see the humor in the situation. Oh, it was embarrassing. Horrifying, more like. But that's what was so funny.

"I don't get it!" Bernard said more loudly, not appreciating being ignored.

I uncovered my eyes. Oliver had let go of Bernard's hand when he'd started cracking up. Now, Oliver messed up the boy's hair a bit.

"Laura thought you were my son," Oliver explained. He was barely able to stop himself from laughing again.

I didn't think I could get any redder, but I'm pretty sure I was wrong. My cheeks definitely got hotter.

Bernard processed what Oliver had said for a minute. "That's funny?"

"It's bloody hilarious," Ian said, wiping away the water streaming from his eyes, but mercifully, he did not laugh anymore. We had all calmed down quickly, though we were still smiling at the joke.

"This is my _good_ friend, Ian Mallory, by the way," I said, emphasizing 'good' more than was needed to get the irony across.

"I know," Oliver said, shaking Ian's hand, "though it's nice to more formerly meet you."

"And you," Ian said as the men took their hands back. "That was a bloody good game you played last month. Against the Cannons. That was a great save."

Oliver's smile grew even bigger. "Thank you. I saw your picture of it in the _Prophet_."

"That was a good picture, wasn't it?" Ian asked, shifting his camera case off his shoulder so that he could stand more comfortably.

"Yes, it was," Oliver agreed.

I had no idea what game, save or picture they were talking about. I stopped listening to the men's conversation about Quidditch when Bernard pulled lightly on my cloak.

When I looked down at him, he asked, "Is my name bad?"

My eyes widened as a small wave of shame swept over me. I bent down so that I didn't have to look down at the little boy. "No, your name isn't bad," I said, smiling as kindly as I could.

"It isn't?" Bernard asked.

"No, you have a nice name," I lied convincingly. "I was just upset that Oliver didn't tell me he had such a nice younger cousin. It had nothing to do with your name."

"So… you like my name?" the boy asked, smiling.

I laughed a little. "Bernard is a… fine name."

"What's your name?" Bernard asked.

"Laura Debman."

Bernard wrinkled his nose. "I don't like that name."

I laughed appreciatively at Bernard's comment. It made me feel not quite as bad about being so blatant about how I felt about the poor kid's name after I'd first heard it.

"It's not so bad, is it?" I asked, playing along.

Bernard thought about it for several seconds. "No," he admitted. "Do you like Quidditch?" Oliver's cousin said, better at continuing small talk at age four than I was at twenty-two.

"It's OK. Do you like Quidditch?"

"I _love_ Quidditch!" Bernard said enthusiastically.

"Do you? What's your favorite Quidditch team?"

"Puddlemere," he said, rocking back and forth a little, as many kids do when they're forced to stand in one spot.

"Of course," Oliver said approvingly, bending down to take Bernard's hand again.

I hadn't realized that Oliver and Ian had stopped talking to listen to my conversation with Bernard. I stood up straight again, but didn't stop looking at the boy.

"What's your favorite team?" Bernard asked me.

I shrugged, laughing. "I don't know. I haven't really thought about it."

"Her favorite team is Puddlemere, too," Ian said, grinning down at Bernard.

"Really?" Bernard asked excitedly.

"Sure."

"How old are you, Bernard?" Ian asked in his regular voice. Ian didn't believe in baby-talking younger children. Even his four-month old baby. (Sarah, his wife, didn't use a babying voice, either, when she was around Ian, but I heard her use baby-talk more than once while eating dinner at the couple's house.)

"Three," Bernard answered proudly.

"He's almost four," Oliver told Ian and me.

"And what are you doing in Diagon Alley, Bernard?" Ian asked.

"Getting ice cream!" Bernard said, turning towards Oliver and jumping up and down a couple of times.

"You don't want to look around at the Quidditch stuff first?" Oliver asked, laughing.

"No!"

Oliver looked up and over at me. "Well… I'm sure you're busy, and if I don't get Bernard to that new ice cream parlor within three minutes, he might hurt me," Oliver said while Bernard tugged on his arm excitedly.

"It was nice to see you," I said.

"Wanna come?" Bernard asked.

The rest of us looked down at him. He was still tugging on Oliver's arm, but he was looking up, switching his gaze between Ian and me.

"I'm sure Ian and Laura are busy—"

"Not really," Ian interrupted Oliver. He looked over at me with a look that reminded me a bit too strongly of Joan. Grinning, he turned his focus back to Bernard. "At least, Laura's not."

"We have to develop our film," I said. And it was true.

"We have to make the Developing Potion first, and I can do that alone just as easily as I can do it with you looking over my shoulder," Ian said. …That was true, too.

I tried to glare at Ian without letting Oliver see it, but it proved impossible, so I probably looked like I was staring blankly at my colleague.

"You can come if you want," Oliver said.

Ian nodded. "Go get some ice cream. And bring me back some Fizzing Whizbee Fruit Wham."

I glanced down at Bernard, who was looking up at me hopefully. "All right," I said a bit reluctantly.

"Yeah! Let's go!" Bernard said, moving towards the door and making it very difficult for Oliver not to follow.

"I'll see you back at the office," Ian said, giving me a shove, making us both follow the Woods out of Quidditch Supplies.

Oliver slowed Bernard down long enough for me to join their group. I walked up on Bernard's side, and he took my hand before pulling Oliver and me in his wake.

"Have you been to the new ice cream parlor?" I asked Oliver, looking straight ahead to make sure that Bernard didn't pull me into anything solid.

"Not yet. Is it as good as Fortesque's?"

"About the same," I said, dodging a person who wasn't walking in accordance with Bernard's idea of the flow of traffic.

"The Fizzing Whizbee Fruit Wham is good?" Oliver asked, and I could hear his smile.

"Ian likes it. It's slightly better than its name, which isn't that great."

"Careful. You might hurt its feelings."

I looked over at him just long enough to make sure that he was kidding. He was, but I still felt as if I should apologize. "I'm sorry about that whole thing. Both for insulting Bernard and for… you know…."

"Accusing me of having a kid without letting you know?" Oliver asked, laughing.

"I guess," I said, laughing and blushing again.

"My reaction probably would have been about the same," Oliver admitted.

"Do any of the old seventh years have kids?" I asked. "So I'm not caught off guard again?"

"As far as I know, only Adam and Tara."

I would have slapped myself lightly in the head if I hadn't been afraid of hitting someone in the crowd while bringing up my hand. "I knew that. Joan wrote to me as soon as Tara would let her. Their kid is… two?"

"A little over two now, I think," Oliver said.

We'd reached Simons' Ice Cream Shoppe, and Oliver opened the door for Bernard and me. Since I was still holding Bernard's hand, I led the way to the counter. Bernard and Oliver took their time looking at all of the flavors in the shop and, after much debate, all of us placed our orders and brought our dishes to a small, round table tucked in the back of the store. Since it was December, the place wasn't very busy. Based on the number of packages placed near tables, most people in the parlor looked as if they were from out town, and they probably hadn't been to the new store yet.

Bernard sat in the seat that faced the majority of the shop so that he could watch everything going on, which positioned Oliver and me across from each other. Bernard seemed more than satisfied with his ice cream and the view, so Oliver continued our conversation.

"You know that Rose and Flint eloped?"

"No!" I said. "When?"

"About… three weeks ago, I guess."

"When did you find out?"

"Joan wrote a week ago. I'm surprised she didn't write to you about it yet. She was pretty upset that she wasn't going to get to go to a wedding ceremony."

I laughed. "That's Joan. And I guess that's Rose and Flint, too."

"Yes," Oliver agreed after swallowing a spoonful of ice cream.

"I saw in the paper that Dave and Cedar decided to get married."

Oliver nodded. "Took them long enough. Although, I have to admit, I thought those two would put it off for another five years. They're not very good at making decisions."

"No," I said, "although they stick by their decisions, so their marriage should be a long one."

Oliver laughed. "For better or worse."

"Joan never writes to me about these things. Is she still dating Evan?"

Oliver looked mildly surprised. "Adam's brother?"

"Yeah."

"They were dating?"

"They started dating about a year ago. Cedar told me one time when I ran into her at Gringotts."

"I never heard about that," Oliver said. He shrugged. "So, I have no idea if they're still dating."

"I bet they still are," I said.

"Are you still dating Elliot?" Oliver asked. There wasn't much emotion in his voice, so I didn't think much about the question.

"No. We broke up years ago."

"Why?" Oliver asked. "If you don't mind me asking," he added quickly.

I shook my head. "I don't know. We just… didn't have all that much in common. Hell—" I covered my mouth and glanced over at Bernard, who didn't respond. "Sorry. _Heck_… though that's not much better…."

"He's heard worse," Oliver said dismissively.

I smiled. "From you?"

"No, thank you, from his parents," Oliver said, smirking.

"Sorry again, then."

"What were you going to say before the minor curse word?"

It took me a few seconds to remember. "I was just going to say that Elliot and I didn't talk much."

"Ah," Oliver said, nodding. "That seems to be the death of most of my relationships, too."

"Are you dating anyone?" I asked.

"No. Not right now. I've been really busy since I became Puddlemere's Keeper after the old one was traded to another team."

"That was over a year ago," I said.

Oliver laughed. "To answer the question implied in that comment, it's been a while since I seriously dated anyone."

I smiled, then caught myself and made my face as unreadable as I could.

"You?" Oliver asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I'm not dating anyone now, no."

"Too busy?" Oliver asked.

I shrugged. "Same as always."

"Oh. I thought maybe…." Oliver took another bite of ice cream. "I guess I just meant that I assumed you'd be spending more time developing pictures since your pictures have been in the paper more and more."

I smiled, glad that he had noticed so I wouldn't have to brag if he asked about how I was doing at the _Prophet_. "I spend a little more time there, but the amount of time I work still evens out."

"Some of your pictures have been all over the place," Oliver said.

I nodded. "I wish they could have been pictures of better events."

I had become the Hogwarts photographer at one of the school's most news making periods in recent history. I was about the only photographer who could get pictures of Harry Potter on a regular basis, and the _Prophet_ printed many of them. Those pictures got me some attention in the office, which was nice; who doesn't like to receive a little appreciation for doing his or her job well?

Unfortunately, it took a tragedy for me to make a name for myself. When Professor Dumbledore was murdered, I was the only _Daily_ _Prophet_ photographer who was allowed to take pictures at the funeral because the event took place at Hogwarts. So, my pictures became the visuals of that funeral for most wizards in Great Britain. A few weeks later, I was digging through my stock for recent pictures of Dumbledore, and I discovered a picture of Snape and Dumbledore, together. I had taken it after Snape became the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. School hadn't even been in session at the time I took the picture, and the paper had decided not to run an article about Snape's appointment to the new teaching position, but it was still the last picture (and one of the few pictures) taken of the pair. The paper printed the picture with a follow-up story of Dumbledore's death, and then other publications started using the photograph, too. For about two days, the picture itself became a story, and since I had taken that photograph, I was dragged into the story, too.

"It's not your fault that the things you took pictures of happened, so there's really no reason to feel guilty that the pictures made you famous," Oliver said simply but seriously.

"They didn't make me famous—"

"Everyone knew your name—"

"For a few days," I interrupted. "Just long enough to get me promoted."

Oliver shook his head. "Most people want to be famous," he said, smiling.

"I wouldn't mind it. I just… would rather be famous for something more… pleasant than taking a picture of Professor Dumbledore and his murderer."

"There's no reason to feel guilty," Oliver repeated.

I nodded and focused on my ice cream again. Several people at the _Daily_ _Prophet_ had told me to enjoy the attention and that there was no reason to feel guilty for what had generated that attention. It's the nature of news to benefit from misfortune. It's cold, but it's true. Ian had been the only one at the office I'd actually talked to about the whole thing. Everyone else who came up to me knew how I was feeling because they'd been there themselves. Ian, who was known for photographing Quidditch, needed a bit more of an explanation. He'd been quite supportive after listening to what was bothering me, and he had convinced me that there was nothing to feel badly about.

I wasn't focusing on my ice cream because I felt _guilty_; I focused on my ice cream instead of looking across the table because Oliver _hadn't_ needed me to tell him why I had felt guilty, or even that I had felt guilty at all. The idea that I might be feeling badly about benefiting from the death of a man whom I respected had never occurred to anyone outside of the paper. Or, at least, no one outside of the paper had ever said anything to me about it before then.

"All right?" Oliver asked.

"Yeah. I'm fine." I looked up and smiled. "And I know there's no reason to feel guilty. I don't. But thank you anyway."

"I'm done!" Bernard said.

Oliver and I looked over to see a very messy young wizard sitting in front of an empty dish. We laughed as Bernard smiled at us, unconcerned with the dirty state of his face and black cloak.

"_Scourgify_," Oliver said after taking his wand out of his cloak pocket and pointing it at his cousin.

The ice cream on Bernard disappeared, and the boy didn't even blink. I gathered that he was used to having the spell performed on him, and I briefly wondered what my own mum would have done to have been able to use a spell to clean me up when I'd gotten messy when I was Bernard's age.

"Can Laura and I finish our ice cream?" Oliver asked.

Bernard nodded, but he already was moving around in his seat.

"I'll tell you what," Oliver offered. "If you sit quietly for five minutes I'll… take you for a ride on the Nimbus at home."

"OK!" Bernard said, bouncing up and down in his seat.

"But only if you don't let go of the broom this time," Oliver said quite seriously, and it took a lot of control not to laugh.

"OK," Bernard promised solemnly.

"Five minutes," Oliver said. He took off his watch and placed it in front of Bernard. "When the bigger hand points to this number," Oliver said, pointing to the face of the watch.

Bernard nodded.

"I think I'm the only one who can get him to do that," Oliver said, looking back at me and jerking his head towards Bernard. "Of course… I'm the only one mad enough to take him up on a broom."

I laughed, still watching Bernard, who was staring intently at the watch.

"How's Percy?" Oliver asked.

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. He hasn't written in a while."

"I heard about his mum."

I nodded and looked back to Oliver, who appeared to be rather sad, which didn't surprise me. Oliver had known Mrs. Weasley when we were just starting school. It was easier for him to go to the Burrow than it was for me to get there because Oliver's parents could use magic to bring him.

"Is the family doing OK?" Oliver asked politely.

I shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah, now, they're doing OK as far as I know. But it's been more than a year since Mrs. Weasley died."

"I couldn't believe it when I read about it in the paper," Oliver said, shaking his head as if he still had trouble believing it, which I sympathized with.

"I couldn't either," I said. "I thought Percy would have—although, I'm sure Percy was much too upset to think about writing to tell anyone."

Oliver looked at me for a few seconds, but he didn't say anything, which I was somewhat glad about. I could tell he was trying to figure out what I'd meant but hadn't said. He was good at it. Percy, Ian and my mum could usually do the same thing. Thankfully, they all (eventually) learned that it was best not to run their guesses by me; their guesses were usually correct, which pissed me off.

"Did you go to the funeral?" Oliver asked eventually.

"Yeah. Figured Percy could use a friend since… you know… things weren't so good with the family before Mrs. Weasley passed away."

"Are things OK between Percy and the Weasleys now?"

I thought about it. "Well… they're talking again. And Mr. Weasley apologized… even though he was probably more correct about the whole fight than Percy was."

Oliver smirked. "Percy didn't apologize?" He'd phrased it as a question just to be polite.

"Of course not," I grinned back. "But family is better at forgiving that kind of thing."

Oliver's smile barely faltered as he accepted the implied accusation behind what I'd said, even though I hadn't meant it in anyway against Oliver. "That's true, I suppose," Oliver admitted.

I looked down at my empty ice cream dish. "I was kind of expecting… I mean, I thought you would have come." I kept my head down but moved my eyes up to see how he took the comment.

His face didn't change noticeably. "I thought it would be best to stay away."

After a bit of consideration, I decided, "Maybe you were right."

"I knew you could handle it."

I raised my eyebrows in disagreement. "Well… I tried."

"You tried?" Oliver asked.

I rubbed my forehead a little to give myself time to figure out how to say what I was thinking. "I guess holding someone's hand just… isn't enough anymore."

"Did you try it?"

I laughed a bit, humorously. "All day. Of the funeral, I mean."

"Percy won't talk about it?"

"No."

"Will he talk about _anything_?" Oliver said, putting his spoon and crumpled paper napkin into his empty bowl.

I smirked.

"Other than work," Oliver added quickly.

"No."

Oliver collected Bernard's ice cream dish and trash in silence. I could tell the five minutes was about up because Bernard was starting to look excited and was moving around in his seat.

"Well, if he couldn't talk to you, who _could_ he talk to?" Oliver said, placing Bernard's trash on top of his own. He held out his hand across the table to take my empty ice cream dish.

I handed the bowl across the table. "That's what worries me."

"I know it is."

I laughed silently to myself. Of course he knew.

"I wish I _could_ still help him, but—" I started.

"Five minutes!" Bernard said, throwing his hands up in delight and hopping out of his chair. He ran around his chair and over to Oliver, whom he immediately began pulling on. "Five minutes! It's pointing to where you said!"

Oliver smiled apologetically at me before facing his cousin with a more open grin. "I promised. Five minutes. You did damned—"

"Oliver!"

"Darned well," Oliver corrected himself, grinning at me.

The time suddenly seemed much more important than it had a moment previously, and I checked my watch. "Oh, wow." I stood up and looked around the table for anything I might have put down. (I'd kept my cloak on because… I was eating ice cream in December.) "I need to get back to the _Prophet._ Ian's finished the potion by now, I'm sure."

Oliver stood as well. "Oh. OK. …It was nice seeing you."

I nodded and smiled sincerely. "You, too, Oliver." I looked down at Bernard, who was still tugging on Oliver's arm while looking up at me. "And it was lovely meeting you, Bernard."

The boy beamed up at me. "Thank you."

Oliver and I laughed.

"What he means is that it was nice to meet you, too," Oliver said, looking down at Bernard to make his point.

"Yeah," Bernard said.

"So… I'll see you around," I said, my eyes traveling back to Oliver.

He nodded once. "I hope so, yes."

"Is she going to New Year's?" Bernard asked Oliver, looking up at his cousin for the first time since all of us had stood.

Oliver was caught a bit off guard by the question. "I…. She can if she wants." He turned his gaze back to me. "You can if you want."

I hesitated.

"Come!" Bernard said, letting go of Oliver's arm to tear around the table to grab my arm. He jumped up and down a couple of times. "It's fun! Come!"

I laughed as Oliver walked around the table to try to prevent his cousin from taking my shoulder out of its socket.

Ultimately, I couldn't say no to Bernard. I thought little kids were _all_ _right_, but I was rarely easily persuaded by one. But, Bernard was more likeable than most three- and four-year-olds. Sure, he was a bit of a hassle, but he wasn't a brat merely for the sake of getting attention or causing trouble. And the war was still very much with everyone, including me; that made Bernard's simple humor quite appealing. So was being reunited with old friends, whom I'd worried about frequently despite never being good at keeping in touch with them. And not attending the _Daily_ _Prophet_ New Year's party, which was almost exactly the same each year, was tempting, too.

"All right," I said. I beamed down at Bernard. "I'll be there."

"Yeah!" Bernard said, pulling on my arm a bit too harshly as he celebrated.

"We'll see you there, then," Oliver said, this time remembering to disconnect Bernard's hands from the sleeve of my cloak.

"Yes," I said. "I'll see you both there." I nodded once at the pair of Woods before turning uncertainly and walking out of the Simons' Ice Cream Shoppe alone.

"About damned time," Ian said when I slipped into the dark room quickly, before the lights in the hall could come back on. Ian was already putting his photographs into trays of Developing Potion. "Did you bring my ice cream?"

I winced. "Oh, shit. I lost track of time, and then, when I realized what time it was, I completely forgot about your ice cream," I said. "I'll go back and get some—"

"Don't bother," Ian said quickly. "No one in his right mind wants ice cream in December. I was just giving you an excuse to go." Ian smiled at me, and yet again I was a bit reminded of Joan. "So… it went well, then?" Ian asked, watching me move around the center table as he smirked knowingly.

I nodded. "I guess it did. We had a decent conversation."

"When are you seeing him again?" Ian asked, laughing, apparently pleased with himself for making me go eat ice cream with Oliver.

I laughed, too. "It wasn't that kind of conversation. It was just… friendly."

"Just friendly?"

"Yes. It was more like a conversation with an old friend than with an ex-boyfriend."

Ian nodded sarcastically. "Yes. I accuse my old friends of having children out of wedlock all of the time. It's a great way to—"

"Oh, shut up," I interrupted, but I laughed at the joke.

"So. When are you seeing him again?" Ian asked again, turning back to his work.

"New Year's."

Ian laughed. "I'll cover for you at the office party."

"Thank you," I said, "but I'm still only going as an old friend."

"I know," Ian said in a voice that clearly told me that he didn't mean it.

"Because Bernard asked me."

"I know," Ian repeated.

"How could you know—"

Ian turned, smiling genuinely. "Laura," he interrupted me. "Just go have a good time. With your friends."

I nodded once in mock defiance. "Maybe I will."

Ian laughed and shook his head at me. "And try not to be so stubborn."

"I'm not—" His almost cruelly skeptical look broke me off. "I'll try."

_Author's_ _Note_:

Thanks to Marie for Bernard's name. I asked for a horrible name for a child, and she didn't disappoint me. (My deepest apologies to anyone who has the name/likes the name/gave a child that name.)

The next two chapters are finished and will be posted very soon.

Preview: Laura goes to the Woods' for the first time in five years to bring in a new year. The rest of the old seventh years show her how much has changed and what has stayed the same.


	18. Owed Apologies

**Chapter 18: Owed Apologies**

The timer on the oven in my parents' house went off earlier than I'd been expecting. I cursed under my breath and threw my heavy, winter cloak on over my Muggle clothing. Imagining I smelled smoke, I sprinted down the stairs and into the kitchen. I needn't have worried; Mum already had the chocolate chip cookies out of the oven, sitting on their baking sheets on the counter.

"I'm running late," I stated the obvious.

"Yeah, a little," Mum said, taking the cooling racks out of the cupboard for me. "Why didn't you just make these at home? It has to be easier to make these by magic."

"It is," I said, going through drawers, looking for a spatula, "but they taste better when they're made by hand." I found the spatula and brought it over to the counter upon which the cookies sat. "They were a great success last time I went."

"If food tastes so much better when it's 'handmade,' then why don't you get an oven?"

I laughed. "Because then I would have to ask for your help. If I try to make food here, I know you'll help me."

Mum smiled appreciatively. "You said you were going to see Oliver Wood?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Yeah." I started moving the cookies onto the cooling racks too soon. They started falling apart. I thought about whether or not cooling the cookies with magic would make them lose their non-magical flavor, and I decided that it wasn't worth taking a chance after going through all of the effort of baking the cookies.

"The boy you dated at Hogwarts?" Mum asked, failing at sounding uninterested.

"Yes," I answered, even though I knew she knew the answer. I'd told her when Oliver and I had started dating, and, right after I'd come home after graduation, I'd told her we'd broken up.

"Is it a date?" she asked, taking another spatula out of a drawer in order to help me move the cookies off the baking sheets.

I laughed. "You sound like Ian."

"Is that a bad thing?" Mum asked, grinning. She had heard me talk a great deal about work, and she liked hearings stories about Ian more than any other person at the paper.

I raised my eyebrows. "Depends what you're—or he's—saying."

"And in this case?"

"In this case, you're both wrong. It's not a date. Oliver's little cousin invited me to go to the party, and the kid's impossible to say no to, so I agreed to go. That's it."

"OK," Mum said, sounding unconvinced but unwilling to start a conversation that could lead to an argument over the matter. "Are you Apparating there?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I know where it is and remember enough about the place. It'll be fine."

Out of all of the magic my mother knew about, Apparition was the spell she distrusted the most. It probably had something to do with the 'seeing is believing' concept. I could make something levitate, and my mum could accept it because she saw the whole process. When I Disapparated, Mum never saw me arrive somewhere else. When I Apparated, Mum never was sure where I came from.

"Be careful." That's always what she said when I told her I was going to Apparate somewhere. Once, not long after I'd turned seventeen, I'd Apparated upstairs just to make the process seem more graspable for her. She'd only gotten upset with me for using magic frivolously.

Mum finished moving the cookies off the baking sheets, and she started moving dishes over to the sink. I started to help her, but she shook her head and smiled. "You're late. Go finish getting ready."

I smiled my thanks and went back upstairs to brush my teeth and to grab my camera. Mum had the cookies on a cheap serving plate with some aluminum foil covering them by the time I got downstairs.

"How'd you cool them so fast?" I asked.

"I put them in the freezer," Mum said, grinning.

I laughed as I took the plate from her. "Genius."

"Practical," Mum responded, laughing along with me. "Have fun at your party."

"Thanks, Mum." I pecked her on the cheek and walked out of the room to Disapparate so that Mum wouldn't have to watch it.

The front door to the Woods' large house in Scotland was already open when I Apparated onto the front steps. I hadn't been thinking about the fact that many other people would be coming in through those doors. A middle-aged couple had just walked into the small entrance hall, and I breathed a sigh of relief that I hadn't landed on them.

I moved off the steps and to the side of the door while I waited for the pair to exchange civilities with Mr. Wood and Oliver, whom I could hear speaking to the couple. I feared that my sudden nervousness at being back at the Woods' home might be interpreted as impatience. After I heard Mr. Wood move the couple along, politely of course, I stepped back into view, acting as if I'd just arrived.

Oliver was just about to shut the door to keep the winter air out of the house. He grinned when he noticed me walking up the few steps to the landing, my hands gripping two sides of the plate.

"Ah, Miss Debman," Mr. Wood said, seeing me. "Come in. It's cold outside."

He was correct about the cold, and I followed his directions, smiling at him as kindly as I could. I hadn't seen him for four years, but I still did not trust him. If anything, my distrust had increased since the wedding. I was relatively sure that he wouldn't say anything to me in front of Oliver, but I couldn't be quite sure. Really, I couldn't be sure that Mr. Wood would say anything unpleasant to me at all, even if Oliver wasn't there.

Oliver shut the door behind me. "I wasn't sure if you'd Apparate or use Floo Powder."

"I came from my parents' house, so I had to Apparate," I answered, shivering a little because of the temperature difference between the entrance hall and the front yard. I'd been out in the cold just long enough to feel it.

"And do I smell chocolate chip cookies?" Mr. Wood asked.

I smiled more sincerely and nodded.

"Homemade?"

"Of course," I said. "My mother did most of the work, honestly." I pulled back the aluminum foil and offered the plate to Oliver's dad.

"Thank you," Mr. Wood said, taking one of the smaller cookies off the top of the pile. "Oliver can take those into the kitchen for you. You know where the main room is?"

I nodded and let Oliver take the plate from my hands. To keep my hands from showing any of my anxiety, I clasped them together in front of me.

"You can come with me to the kitchen, if you'd like," Oliver said, starting to lead the way.

After nodding once to Mr. Wood, who returned the gesture with a small smile, I began following Oliver to the back of the house.

"Joan will be happy to see you. I told her you might be coming," Oliver said after we'd gotten down the hall from his father. "The others are here, too."

"Even Rose and Flint?" I asked.

Oliver nodded. "They're still in that honeymoon phase, though. It's rather unpleasant for the rest of us," he said seriously.

I laughed, and the two of us had to step aside for a group of young children, who were running down the hallway in the same direction we were going. A couple of young women, a few years older than us, followed in their wake, smiling at Oliver and me as they passed.

"A lot more younger ones now that our generation's getting older," Oliver noted.

I didn't know how to respond. I'd never really thought about the matter before. The people I were around most of the time were so submersed in their careers that they weren't thinking much about starting families.

"A little scary, isn't it?" Oliver asked, smiling slightly.

"Bloody terrifying," I said quickly.

Oliver laughed at my immediate response and started walking to the kitchen again. It only took a few more seconds to reach the small room with the door that led to the backyard. I was surprised at how well I remembered the house. Everything looked pretty much exactly how it had been when I'd visited five years previously.

"My mum's been talking about these cookies every New Year's since you brought these," Oliver said as he set my mum's plate on a table with the rest of the desserts the guests had brought.

"You're lying," I said, but I smiled anyway.

Oliver laughed. "OK, you caught me. _I've_ been talking about these cookies every New Year's since you brought these."

My grin didn't falter, though I felt my cheeks get a little warm.

"I'll take you to the other seventh years," Oliver said, moving past me to open the door into the hallway again.

After we were about halfway to the hall where the party was held, I asked, "Do you all get together very often?"

Oliver shook his head. "No, just here, once a year. I hardly see any of them other than at these parties."

"Do they see each other often?"

I was walking slightly behind Oliver, so he had to glance over his shoulder to look at me.

"Er… Tara and Joan see each other fairly often because Joan baby-sits for them. And Mark and Adam see each other sometimes, I think." After a short pause, he added, "We all ought to make more of an effort, I suppose."

I agreed with him.

"But don't worry about it. Things go back to normal when we are together," Oliver said, briefly looking over his shoulder at me again. "Well… except Adam and Tara have to look after the kid sometimes. And, one year, Joan had to leave because there was an emergency at St. Mungo's. And during the war, Rose couldn't come one year because she was on duty at the Ministry."

"That's 'back to normal'?" I asked sarcastically.

Oliver laughed under his breath. "Now it is."

We walked into the large room and had to cross the empty space in the middle of room to get to the table where our friends were sitting. Joan stood to greet me with a hug, and the others around the table said hello from their seats. I returned their salutations with a wave and a hello of my own.

"I have to get back to the door, but I'll join you all as soon as I can," Oliver said to the group at large. "Save me a seat," he added, looking at me.

I smiled and nodded before taking the chair that was nearest to me. I glanced around the table quickly. I'd seen all of the seventh years at least once during the previous four years. Working in Diagon Alley made chance run-ins more likely. As a whole, the old seventh years looked slightly older, naturally, but the older appearances were not only from the physical differences between a person who is seventeen and that person when he or she enters his or her twenties. The seventh years presented themselves differently. They had a great air of independence. They seemed more responsible. More mature. They were adults.

"About time you decided to show up," Adam said good-naturedly, grinning from across the table. He had a two-year-old girl sitting on his knee. Her head was cocked to one side as she looked at me curiously. "This is Laura, Claire. Say hi to Laura."

The girl waved shyly and mouthed 'hi'. I said hello back, smiling broadly at the little girl with blonde hair, like both of her parents.

"She's a little shy," Tara said, reaching out and stoking her daughter's hair a couple of times to get out a few small snarls.

"She gets that from her father, of course," said Evan, leaning past Joan to smirk at his brother. I correctly decided that it was safe to presume that he was still dating Joan, based on his presence at the party and his spot at the table. Not to mention the fact that they were holding hands.

Of course, it could have been easy to miss Evan and Joan holding hands because their actions were being vastly overshadowed by Rose and Flint, who were somehow managing to make it appear as if they were sitting in one chair despite both having a chair of their own.

Rose practically beamed at me, which I found rather unnerving. That's not to say that Rose didn't smile much, but rarely was her smile so large and open. Flint's smile and gaze were only for his wife. While I had to admit that the couple was cute, I also immediately agreed with Oliver: it was rather annoying to see the two people with normally cold personalities so… smitten.

Still, I congratulated the couple, and they thanked me quickly before turning their attention back to each other. I was just as happy to focus on other occupants of the table, and I gave my best wishes to Cedar and Dave for their recent engagement. The two were happier to turn the congratulations into a conversation, which Joan, and gradually everyone else, happily joined.

I quickly forgot that I had been nervous to be with the whole group again. Little had changed in how the group got along, although the topics of discussion had shifted greatly. Because we saw each other so infrequently, it was easy to talk for an hour about what everyone had been up to at work and at home.

Rose, Mark and Flint were all doing fairly well in the Ministry, though none had received any spectacular promotions at the time. Mark enjoyed the competitive environment, and Rose and Flint liked having the same work hours, so all three were happy working for the government.

Joan was astonishingly busy working at St. Mungo's. She was the newest midwife to join the staff, and the others were happy to give her the least desirable hours and patients who lived in the places that were the hardest to reach. Evan joked with the group about how they didn't get to see each other enough, and while that was probably true, no one took him seriously, both because the couple seemed happy and because he was Adam's brother.

Adam's acting career was going well, and the tendency for his play practices and performances to be in the evening made it possible for him to stay at home while Tara worked at the Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley, to which she'd recently been promoted. It was clear that their home life came before their work, so I couldn't relate to them as well as I had when we had been fellow students, but their dedication to their daughter made me respect them more. The two were meant to be parents. They weren't perfect at it. It was fairly clear to all of us that their firstborn was going to be a bit spoiled and maybe a bit naïve, like her father. However, the child was happy and healthy, and at two, what else really matters?

Oliver joined the group after a little over an hour, and dinner was set out within minutes of that, but neither changed the conversation much. Mark and Adam liked hearing about life as a professional Quidditch player, so the discussion still was very centered on our present lives. As we girls grew tired of the sports topics, we started our own chat about more interesting matters: the rumors we'd heard about the people with whom we'd graduated from Hogwarts. I told them the basics of what Percy had been up to, but kept my worries out of it. In his career, Percy was doing very well, and that's what he'd want me to tell others about, so I strayed very little from the subject of Ministry of Magic while speaking about him.

I'm sure that Rose and Flint stayed with the conversation as long as they could, but once other guests at the party started finishing dinner and moving onto the dance floor, the newlyweds couldn't turn down actually having an _excuse_ to be touching each other. They hastily excused themselves from the table and moved to the center of the room to flaunt their happiness. Cedar was quick to force Dave to dance with her, and Evan and Joan weren't far behind them. I thought that Tara and Adam were going to stay for a while, but Claire was rather restless and wanted to play with the other small children, so the couple took their daughter to the backyard, to which many parents and children had been disappearing.

"And then there were three," Mark said, glancing at all of the empty chairs.

Oliver and I laughed, both of us thinking that three was better than two because we knew who the two left at the table would be.

"Guess I could try to find someone to dance with so that the two of you can dance without feeling badly for leaving me," Mark said, turning to see if any eligible witches were sitting at the tables behind him.

"Oh, that's all right," I said quickly.

Mark gave me a short, intent look, but he quickly shrugged and smiled. "OK, then. I guess it's the three of us," he said a bit less sarcastically.

"Looks that way," Oliver said.

Mark's optimism concerning his company had come too soon. Silence was about the only thing that the three of us could produce correctly. All of us tried to start a pointless discussion or two by making an obvious remark about our surroundings, but the only response that an obvious remark can get is agreement or sarcasm, neither of which last very long.

Oliver was the first to crack. "I'm quite thirsty," he said, picking up his empty cup. "I'm going to get some punch. Would either of you like some?"

"Oh, sure," Mark said, passing his own glass across the table, which Oliver took while standing.

"Laura?" Oliver asked, gazing down.

"Are Fred and George here?" I asked.

"Yes," Oliver responded, furrowing his brow in confusion.

"Then I think I'll pass," I said, remembering how the punch had faired the last time I'd visited the Woods', "but thanks anyway."

Oliver nodded once before walking away to get refreshments.

"I think I might have to go find someone to dance with," Mark said quietly, and I wasn't sure if I was supposed to hear him or not.

I was debating whether I should tell him that I wouldn't blame him or not. In one sense, I wouldn't blame him for wanting to leave the awkward 'conversation' at our table, but on the other hand, I would blame him for possibly making the situation even worse for me. I didn't have much time to weigh my options because my thoughts were broken off by a short tug on my sleeve.

"Wanna dance?"

I looked over to my right to see Bernard's small face looking up at me, smiling. I smiled back. "Do you know how?"

"No," Oliver's cousin said, undaunted by that tiny problem. His smile only got bigger, making his dark eyes get smaller.

I laughed cheerfully. He really was a cute little kid and almost impossible to say no to, but that hadn't spoiled him yet. "All right," I agreed.

Bernard grabbed my hand from where it was resting on the table, and I stood up quickly and grabbed my cloak.

"I'll be back soon," I told Mark.

He smirked. "Well, at least one of us found a dancing partner."

I smiled back briefly before Bernard tugged on my arm. I followed the boy through the crowd of dancers. He could dodge between people more easily than I could, which was leading to me apologizing more than Bernard found it necessary to do.

"Where are you going?" I asked after we'd gone through the entire room and into a hallway.

"Outside," Bernard said, watching where he was going and making his way to the kitchen quite quickly.

"It's cold outside," I said, more out of amusement that as an objection.

"No, it's not," he said simply, opening the door leading to the backyard.

I shut the door behind us. "Why are we going outside?" I asked.

"Grown ups dance inside."

I almost said 'I _am_ an adult,' but that sounded rather childish. So, instead, I silently walked behind Bernard into the crowd of younger people. There were many more small children outside than there had been when I'd been at the party five years previously, and once again it struck me that these were likely the children of people I went to Hogwarts with. There were some people who were Hogwarts-aged, and they had grouped together with some couples dancing on the edge of the crowd. To me, that whole situation looked as if it would be quite uncomfortable, but that's where Bernard led us.

"What now?" Bernard asked, facing me but not letting go of my hand.

I had no idea. Clearly, we couldn't dance how Oliver had taught me. For one, Bernard wasn't tall enough to comfortably hold my hand or put his hand on my waist, and I wasn't going to dance on my knees. Secondly, I probably couldn't have taught Bernard, a four-year-old, how to dance even if I'd wanted to. Still, I had to figure out _something_.

"Give me your other hand," I said, holding out my hand that Bernard hadn't used to drag me into the backyard.

Bernard followed my directions. "Now what?"

"Er… sway."

"Sway?" Bernard asked, looking up at me doubtfully.

"Yeah," I said more confidently, "sway. Pick up one foot a little."

He did. I picked up my opposite foot.

"Now put that foot down and pick up your other foot, just a little."

We both did this at the same time.

"Now keep doing that."

So we did, picking up our feet, just a little, making ourselves sway.

The teenage girls dancing nearby thought it was cute and made sounds indicating this. I looked over long enough to see the boys smiling; they knew that it would be a mistake not to show a reaction to a scene their female dancing partners were gushing over.

Some of the younger children also noticed Bernard and I dancing, and they started mimicking us nearby, holding hands and swaying. They didn't bother breaking into pairs of one boy and one girl. It was only a new game, after all. I heard some laughing from behind me, right next to the house. A small group of adults was sitting in chairs, monitoring the yard, which primarily was full of children still too young to go to Hogwarts. I didn't blame the adults for choosing that location. Bernard hadn't lied; it wasn't cold outside—at least not where we were 'dancing'—but it wasn't room temperature, either.

Bernard and I kept swaying for about five more minutes, making common adult-child small talk. It was somewhat hard for me because I was unsure what young wizards _did_ all day. They didn't have televisions, after all. Turns out that they mainly play inside or nearby the house, listen to the radio (while playing inside the house) and have short lessons on reading, writing and math with their parents. The difficulty of keeping the conversation with Bernard interesting kept my attention, and I didn't notice when Oliver entered the scene.

"May I cut in?" Oliver asked, coming up beside us on the side of the younger children. He was looking at Bernard, smiling kindly.

I doubted that Bernard had ever heard the expression 'cut in' before, but he seemed to get the general idea of what Oliver wanted. "No," Bernard said simply and almost politely.

Oliver laughed and said, "Uncle Frank is looking for you. Something about needing help with Wizards and Warlocks?"

Bernard definitely understood this statement. He dropped my hands and bolted towards the door that led into the kitchen, catching the attention of most of the adults outside. All of us watched as Bernard struggled a bit with the door before it was opened by a young woman coming to join the group of supervisors.

"Well..." I said, "I guess I don't compare with Wizards and Warlocks."

"Who does?" Oliver asked.

After a short pause, I asked, "Does Wizards and Warlocks take long to set up?"

"It takes a little time."

I checked my watch. "It's not even eleven."

"Not that much time," Oliver admitted. "Mark told me where you went, and… I just didn't want Bernard to bother you."

"Oh, he wasn't."

We made a little bit of small talk about Bernard, but we quickly ran out of material, so we looked around the yard, pretending that we had purposely stopped talking. The adults were gossiping with each other while looking frequently to the young children, who were still playing the new game I had inadvertently invented. The teenagers were joking with each other in small circles of friends, or they were dancing with each other on the outskirts of the group of students.

"What are they doing?" Oliver asked at last, looking down at the small children on his left.

"Dancing," I said simply.

He looked over at me, raising an eyebrow.

"You try to teach a four-year-old how to dance," I said in mock defensiveness.

"Oh, I'll teach him how to dance," Oliver said, "in another… six or seven years. It's a good skill to have."

I laughed. "You mean it will help him meet girls."

"It already has," he said, motioning towards me.

I nodded. "That's true."

Oliver nodded, too, but once again the conversation faltered. I looked away from him. The teenagers were still chatting and dancing. Some of the children were starting to realize that swaying back and forth really isn't much fun, especially if you can't keep time with the music. The adults laughed at something that must have been particularly funny.

"I haven't been out here on New Year's Eve in years," Oliver said, partially to himself. "You never got to see this side of the party, did you?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "We spent most of our time inside when I came."

"Right." Oliver looked around a bit more. "I wish you had gotten to see this side of everything."

I shrugged.

"It's much more fun when you're a part of it," Oliver said, incorrectly identifying my shrug as one of indifference.

"I'll take your word for it," I said, smiling.

Oliver nodded. "I guess you'll have to."

"Guess so."

Oliver's face lit up a bit. "Or we could dance now."

I froze, having not expected the offer.

Oliver hurriedly added, "I did tell Bernard that I would cut in."

"You also said that your dad was looking for him," I said after recovering from the momentary surprise.

Oliver smiled. "It wasn't a complete lie. The adults inside really were looking for him."

"Well… then… I'm glad you didn't lie to him for my sake." I smiled to show that I was joking, and the group of adults started laughing again. For a moment, I thought they were laughing at the two of us, but I realized that fear was groundless. The adults didn't care about Oliver and I having a conversation any more than the little kids starting a game of tag or the dancing teenagers in their own little worlds did.

"We don't have anyone else to dance with," Oliver said matter-of-factly, not insultingly.

"I'm sure you could find someone."

Oliver laughed a bit, self-consciously. "So that was a 'no'."

"It wasn't a 'no'," I said, starting to feel myself turning red. I took a moment to wonder what had taken so long for me to start blushing.

"Then what was it?"

"It was a… 'I just don't think it's a good idea'," I said.

"Why?"

I grasped for words, finally finding, "Everything between us is… going well how it is…. No need to risk messing that up."

"By dancing?" Oliver asked, grinning.

I didn't respond.

"I don't mean anything by it," he insisted.

"Really?" I asked skeptically, turning my body to face him directly.

Oliver smiled a bit more. "We were only friends last time we danced."

"Yes," I admitted.

"So let's dance," he said, sensing that he was about to win. "For our old friendship's sake."

I paused before realizing that I was being stubborn. There was no reason to say no. No _practical_ reason.

"Oh, all right," I conceded.

Oliver smiled more genuinely and took a step in my direction, holding his hand out for me to take. Once I'd put my hand in his, he put his other hand lightly on my waist and moved close enough that I could comfortably rest my other hand on his shoulder.

"Remember how?" he asked teasingly.

I shrugged a bit. "I guess." The truth is that I thought that forgetting dance steps was the least of my potential problems.

Oliver led and I followed his steps well enough. I had to concentrate on what I was doing for a few minutes, but the steps took my mind away from whom I was dancing with, and I loosened up a bit.

"Don't look down," Oliver said.

I hadn't even realized I was watching our feet. I snapped my head up quickly and saw him holding back a laugh. I laughed instead, which Oliver took as permission to stop trying not to laugh.

"Aren't you glad you agreed to this?" he said, half jokingly.

"Yeah."

"See? What were you afraid of?" he laughed.

I didn't answer and caught myself before looking at the ground again. Instead, I settled for moving my gaze to over his shoulder.

"Laura?"

"Nothing. I wasn't afraid of anything." I smiled without showing any teeth while cursing myself for not saying this immediately after he'd asked his question.

"You're lying," he said.

There was no point in lying again if he was able to tell if I was doing it. "I was just… a little worried because things didn't turn out so well last time I said yes."

I think he winced slightly (It was hard to tell in the faint light.), and I felt badly for hurting his feelings. Oliver's steps got smaller, but he didn't stop dancing. "Things didn't turn out so badly."

"Not for our careers," I agreed, "but you and I ended up hardly talking for five years."

Oliver lowered his gaze.

"Don't look down," I said mockingly, trying to lift some of the heaviness that had entered our discussion.

Oliver looked back at me and smiled slightly at the joke. "I guess things didn't turn out so well between us," Oliver had to admit.

"I just don't want to go through all of that again."

"I don't either."

I resisted the impulse to tell him that it was his fault. That wasn't going to help anything.

"I owe you an apology," Oliver said.

Both of my eyebrows shot up in shock. I definitely dropped a step or two of the dance, and my jaw might have even dropped.

Oliver took my reaction rather well. He laughed. "I know…. I'm horrible at apologizing."

"…Yes."

"You're willing to listen anyway?"

If 'apology' meant that he was going to admit that he had been wrong and that I had been right, then I _absolutely_ was willing to listen. "Yes," I said instead of what I wanted to say.

Oliver took a minute to gather his thoughts. We kept dancing, and I don't think he realized we were. He could probably dance in his sleep, but it still took a bit of concentration for me to match his steps in time to the music, so I took back my arm that was resting near his neck.

Coming out of his thoughts, he took his hand off my waist and looked around us. "Let's move away from the crowd," meaning the group of Hogwarts students who were dancing near us.

I followed him as he moved through the kids playing tag. They hardly recognized our intrusion in their game unless they were using us as shields to hide from the boy who was 'It'. Oliver stopped walking once we'd reached a point where there were no people, not even little children, within earshot. A large tree was growing nearby, blocking whatever light was coming from the moon. Some light coming from a window in the house made it so that I could make out Oliver's profile, but little else, and I had a feeling that Oliver had chosen the place because the darkness would hide his facial expressions.

"It's even colder over here," I complained, drawing my cloak closer around my body.

"Maybe by half a degree."

"That's colder," I persisted.

Oliver wasn't about to move closer to the other people in the yard. "We'll go back inside soon. This won't take long."

I had my doubts about this. Oliver and I had never had a short, important conversation, and our apologizes tended to be the longest discussions. I decided not to point this out on the chance that doing so would prevent Oliver from apologizing at all.

"OK… apology…" Oliver said after several moments of silence (and shivering on my part).

After a minute of waiting for the 'apology', I had to say something. "That wasn't it, was it?"

Oliver smiled slightly (I think). "No."

"Thank Merlin," I said, smiling back. "I might not have spoken to you for _another_ five years if it had been."

Oliver laughed at the joke as only one of the two of us could—fully appreciatively of the humor, but also a little sadly. "That's what I need to apologize for."

I wasn't sure what he meant, so I didn't respond. I shifted my weight a little to make myself more comfortable for what I was now sure would take a while. I tried to block out the noises coming from the crowd behind me. The sounds made me want to turn around and see what was going on, but I didn't want Oliver to think I wasn't paying attention.

"For not writing, I mean. For five years," he said as if this explained everything.

"You wrote a little."

"Only in response to your Christmas cards. You do know Christmas is in December, not February, right?"

I laughed shortly. "I have to put them off for two months before I can face writing them."

"Yeah, that's why I don't bother. I just write back to the people who send cards to me."

"Which you did. Every year," I said, still a bit unsure why he felt the need to say that he was sorry for this instead of other things that I thought necessitated an apology.

"But my letters didn't _say_ anything."

"No."

"Neither did yours."

I shrugged a little. "What was there to say? Joan tells us both everything there is to write about."

"Yes, but… you're missing my point," Oliver said, frustrated. He backed up a few steps to put his back up against the tree we were standing under, making it even harder for me to see his face.

I stayed in place. "I think I am."

"I'm apologizing for being such a horrible friend for the past five years."

I didn't know what to say. He hadn't been a great friend, but neither had I.

"I broke up with you and cut off all communication for a year, and… well, you promised we'd always be friends," Oliver explained.

I clearly remembered the promise he was speaking of immediately. We'd been standing in front of the window in the small hallway near Gryffindor Tower—the same hallway in which he'd broken up with me—the night before Oliver's last Quidditch match at Hogwarts. I'd finally admitted to myself that I hadn't wanted to be only his _friend_ moments after making that promise.

The memory scared me more than it should have.

"I didn't write, either," I said, uncharacteristically trying to share some of the blame.

"No, but I broke up with you, so it was my responsibility to write."

"That's what _I_ said," I muttered to myself.

Oliver chuckled. "See?"

"Yes," I said plainly, after a short pause so that my agreement wasn't rude.

Oliver and I didn't say anything for a few minutes. At first we looked at one another, waiting for the other to keep the conversation moving, but our gazes started wandering once it became clear that neither of us wanted to speak next. There wasn't much for me to look at since my back was to the action. I gazed absently into the dark, wooded backyard. Nothing distracted me from my thoughts; there was no wind, so not even the trees moved.

"It's worse than not just writing," Oliver said suddenly. He didn't give me a chance to respond to that statement. "I wanted to warn you about protecting your house for months, and I only had the nerve to do it at the wedding."

"I—"

"What if something had happened?" Oliver interrupted.

"Nothing _did_ happen," I said, unnerved by his unease.

"It very well could have. I know you heard about Madame Rosmerta being under the Imperius Curse."

"Yeah," I said. Everyone had heard about it.

"Joan told me about how something tried to break into your house that same year."

"…You aren't suggesting—"

"I am. Oh, I doubt Malfoy would have thought of you, thank Merlin, but it may have been—"

"Someone wanting to steal something valuable," I said quickly.

Oliver paused, but only briefly. "So what if it was only a robbery? That could have happened before the wedding, too."

"Yes, but…. Don't apologize for trying to help me."

"I should have written is all I'm saying."

"I know. And… maybe you should have, but at least you told me when you did. And… it prevented a robbery." I looked down quickly. "So thank you."

I'd wanted to thank him since the attempted robbery. Nothing had happened; I'd heard someone trying to get in through the door and a window in the living room in the middle of the night. It still had frightened me badly. The only reason I'd told Joan about it had been so she'd tell Oliver. It had been my way of thanking him until I had a real opportunity to do so.

"You're welcome."

I looked back up at him, smiling, feeling better. "Is there anything else you'd like to apologize for?"

Oliver seemed to debate this shortly. I thought he was just playing along until he said, "Yes."

"Yes?"

"I'm very, _very_ sorry for not having told my dad I was dating you while we were actually dating," he said almost too quickly for me to understand him.

"I think you already apologized for that," I said after deciphering what he'd said.

"I didn't, but I should have, so I am now."

"It's OK," I said. "I wasn't mad anymore when I brought it up."

"I know," Oliver said. There was another short lull in conversation before he abruptly added, "Which is why I'm sorry for some of the things I said about you late that night, after the wedding."

"What?" I asked, raising my voice slightly.

"I was rather drunk and angry that… well, that things between us had gotten so bad."

"They weren't so bad. I was expecting a lot worse," I said.

"I was expecting things to go back to normal."

"It wasn't all _my_ fault that they didn't," I said sharply, imagining some of the worst things he could have said about me while drunk. Or sober, for that matter.

"Which is why I'm apologizing for what I said."

"What'd you say?" I demanded.

Oliver gave a short, forced laugh. "I'm not that stupid, Laura."

"You're stupid enough to admit that you said anything at all."

"I'm trying to be honest," Oliver said.

"All right. Who'd you talk about me with?"

Oliver's long hesitation let me know that I wasn't going to like the answer. His answer didn't go against my dread.

"Dad," he muttered.

"Oh… lovely."

"I said I was sorry."

"You went home _drunk_ in the middle of the night to talk to your _father_?" I asked.

Oliver shrugged. "I said I was drunk, which implied that I wasn't thinking."

"Anything else?" I asked more seriously this time.

"Yes," he said immediately.

"Oh my God," I reverted to my Muggle curses.

"This is going to sound bad at first, so don't get too angry until you hear me out."

"OK," I said suspiciously… and not completely honestly.

"OK… I'm sorry that I didn't tell you the whole reason I was breaking up with you," Oliver said, not moving his gaze from my face.

"What?" I asked dangerously after what he'd said sunk in.

"I didn't know, myself, at the time!"

"So, you didn't break up with me because you didn't think we'd be able to concentrate enough on work?"

"Oh, no, that was part of it. At the time, I thought that was all of it."

"…OK…."

"But it wasn't all of it," Oliver said discreetly.

"What was the rest of it?" I asked, crossing my arms, not to keep warm.

"I panicked, Laura," Oliver said almost miserably. He leaned a bit more into the tree behind him.

"How do you mean?" I asked, hardly aware of the adults who were watching the children laughing uproariously at something.

"Everything was changing so quickly. There were N.E.W.T.s, graduation, moving away from friends, and suddenly I'm holding this letter about Quidditch—the thing I used to run to in order to _escape_ from change—and instead, that letter made me want to run to something else," Oliver explained, using his hands to gesture, but otherwise not moving from his slouched position against the tree trunk.

"To what?" I asked, already guessing his answer.

"You," he admitted. "But that didn't seem stable, either, suddenly. With work would come less time together. We'd be making new friends. Possibly growing apart. So, the more I thought about our relationship not lasting, the more I turned back to Quidditch, only to realize that it had become less important because… I didn't _need_ to run back to it anymore. But I wanted it to be important. I wanted it to be everything because it always had been. Does this make any sense?"

"No."

Oliver sighed, frustrated. "In my mind, losing Quidditch was like losing myself. Quidditch _was_ me. So I had to get it back. Then I heard Percy telling Adam or Mark—I don't remember which—how he and Penelope had broken up for the sake of their careers, and it made sense. If I only had Quidditch to focus on… it'd be everything again."

I stared at him intently for a minute, thinking about what he'd said. I still didn't really understand his logic, but I was more thinking about the fact that there had been something… emotional behind Oliver's decision to break up with me. I had thought that he had only had success on his mind when he had resolved to end the relationship. I had thought that his emotions were completely on my side.

"I wish you would have told me all of that at the time so that I could have told you how stupid you were being."

"I wasn't being _stupid_," Oliver said a bit defensively.

"_I_ wasn't trying to take Quidditch's place."

"I never said you _tried_."

"Why does it matter if I _was_ taking its place?" I asked, showing him that I still didn't understand.

"I thought I was _losing_ Quidditch. I thought that not needing to hide in the sport meant that it was becoming less important."

"It was," I stated.

"Exactly! And what else did I have? Quidditch was who I _was_. Is who I _am_."

I gaped at him for several seconds, thoroughly surprised by what he'd just said. "How is it that I never convinced you that that wasn't—and still isn't—true?" I practically yelled out of disappointment… in both of us. "My God, Oliver… I thought you'd moved past that idea years ago."

Oliver didn't say anything.

"There's a difference between what you _do_ and who you _are_," I said more composedly.

"You've always said that, but it's not true."

"It _is_ true," I started raising my voice again.

"It's _not_," he snapped. "If you can't see yourself by what you do, how else _can_ you see yourself?" he slowly added.

"By seeing yourself through the eyes of someone else!"

Oliver didn't answer yet again. He merely crossed his own arms.

"Do you think I saw you as Gryffindor's captain? Do you think your father sees you as Puddlemere's Keeper?" I asked.

"No."

"Because it's not who you are."

"Then who am I, if you know me so well?" Oliver asked, starting to raise his own voice for the first time.

"You're… you," I answered pathetically. How do you tell someone who they are in mere _words_ when you've clearly failed so dismally in showing them who they are through actions and feelings?

"I haven't known who that is in five years," Oliver said quietly.

"You obviously didn't know _then_," I said bitterly.

"And you knew who _you_ were?" Oliver asked skeptically.

"No, but I was making progress."

"And I wasn't?"

"I hope you were," I said. "I thought you were."

"I had less progress to make," Oliver said, obviously without thinking first.

I took it as a blow, and a rather low one at that.

"I'm sorry," Oliver said right away, either seeing my expression or sensing from the silence that what he'd said had hurt.

"What do you mean, you 'had less progress to make'?" I managed to keep control in my voice.

Oliver uncrossed his arms and used one hand to push himself off the tree. He took a few steps toward me, but I took one step back to stop his progress.

"I didn't mean anything by it," he insisted.

"You're lying," I said, and I wasn't guessing. He wasn't the only one who could detect an obvious lie when he heard one.

"I only meant that you were dealing with more than I was at the time. With Percy and Dan," Oliver said.

"So, I didn't know who I was because Percy was being an ass and because Dan was dead?" I asked coldly.

"No, Laura, that's not what I said, and you know it."

"Then I have no idea what you said because that's what it sounded like to me."

Oliver couldn't come up with a response.

"Do you mean that you were better at helping me with my problems than I was at helping you with yours?" I asked plainly.

"Of course not," Oliver said, taking another step forward.

"Because you _were_ better at it," I said, uncrossing my arms.

Oliver looked down.

"And I'm sorry that I wasn't better," I said, looking down, too. I started to feel tears prickle my eyes, but a little blinking stopped it. I wouldn't cry over what I'd said. I felt better after admitting it; I'd been thinking it was true through most of the conversation. For much longer than that, really.

"Hey," Oliver said, getting me to raise my head. He was looking at me again. "You helped me more than you know."

I smiled slightly. It had been his way of admitting that what I had said was true, but that it was OK.

"I just wasn't as good at helping myself. I wasn't sure how," he said.

"You just have to pay more attention to how other people see you."

"I will," Oliver promised.

"Because I promise you that they see more than a Quidditch player."

Oliver looked at me as carefully as he could in the poor lighting before nodding. "I'm sorry for hurting you."

"It's OK. I'm already not angry anymore." I thought about this and decided that it was close enough to being true to make correcting myself unnecessary.

"I don't mean for just now," he said. "Well… for that, too, but that's not what I meant. I'm sorry for hurting you when I broke up with you. If I could take back the decision—"

"It's OK," I interrupted. "I stopped being angry over _that_ years ago."

"I know, but I still wanted to explain."

"I'm glad you did."

"Were you still angry at the wedding?" Oliver asked, drawing his own cloak around him a bit more tightly. It was getting colder outside, as it usually does at night.

"Yes," I admitted.

"I thought so."

"Had you figured out all of the reasons for breaking up with me by the wedding?"

"Mostly," he said, shrugging slightly.

"You should have said something."

"I didn't think you'd listen," Oliver responded, laughing slightly.

"I probably wouldn't have."

"Oliver?" someone called from near the house.

Oliver looked over my shoulder, and I turned my head to see a woman standing near the open kitchen door. Almost everyone had left the backyard and wondered how I could have missed the commotion. A few adults were left, gathering a few younger children to go inside for the minute of silence and spectacular fireworks that would bring in the new year.

"Are you two coming in for the fireworks?" the woman asked loudly.

"We'll be inside in a moment, Aunt Celeste," Oliver called back. "Why should I have said something?" he asked me, getting right back to the discussion.

"On the off chance that I would have been not as stubborn as normal." I turned back to him and smiled.

"Would anything have turned out differently?"

"Probably not."

Oliver started laughing, at first slightly, and then a bit more, and I quickly joined him.

"Maybe someday we'll stop sucking at life," he said.

"Speak for yourself," I joked.

"Oh, you think you've gotten better at life than I have?" he played along.

"No idea, but I've gotten _better_."

"How so?" Oliver asked seriously, but still grinning.

I had to think for several seconds before coming up with, "Well, I never once threw you in a lake during this whole conversation, and I wouldn't have even if there was a lake at hand. Not even when you deserved it."

Oliver laughed.

"And I'm not holding a grudge. Except maybe for you talking to your dad about me. As if he didn't hate me enough."

Oliver started, "I said—"

"You're sorry. I know."

"Hey!" Oliver said as if something had just occurred to him. "I _apologized_ for… four things tonight. Admitted that I was wrong." He grinned. "See how much you've helped me?" he said, half-kidding.

"There's hope for us yet."

"Really?" Oliver asked.

"Sure."

He paused slightly. "For _us_?"

I quickly started turning red and looked down. It hadn't been what I'd meant, but at the same time, 'no' had not leapt immediately into my mind when he'd asked the question. '_It should have_,' I thought.

Oliver laughed awkwardly, and I joined in the laughter yet again because there was nothing else I could do.

"Hope for you. And hope for me," he clarified.

"Definitely," I agreed quickly. "We'll be OK."

"Especially with a friend to help out."

"Of course," I agreed, nodding. I grinned. "I promised."

Promised that once we were friends, we always would be. And this time I was pretty sure that we could actually carry out the vow.

Oliver took another step towards me.

"Are you two coming, or not? You'll miss it!"

"We're coming, Adam!" I called, recognizing his voice and spinning around before hurrying towards him.

Oliver followed me to the door, where Adam met us, smiling innocently, as usual.

_Author's Note:_ The next chapter is finished and will be up soon.


	19. Cliché

**Chapter 19: Cliché**

Adam, Oliver and I walked into the main room for the New Year's Party just in time for the moment of silence. The three of us stood somberly, looking down, but my mind was running wildly. I wouldn't allow myself to think in words because my own thoughts concerning the conversation I'd just had with Oliver scared me. What was left when I for the most part eliminated the words from my mind were the strong feelings of confusion and… hope, I think.

I'd missed him. I'd missed having a friend who already knew everything that I'd been through while growing up. I'd missed knowing someone well enough to know what that person meant even when I couldn't see his face. I'd missed the relative ease of communication, even when that communication came through bickering, spats or awkward, yet telling, silence.

The fireworks were a welcome relief from the effort it took not to pay attention to the few thoughts that were breaking through the barrier I was trying to put up between my subconscious and consciousness. The show was as spectacular as I'd remembered it being the last time I'd visited Oliver's house. The fireworks lingered near the ceiling, spelling words and painting picture through sparks of light. I noticed several Quidditch related shapes, including some banners supporting Puddlemere United and the team's Keeper.

There was no chance to speak to anyone after the last of the fireworks had been exploded. People immediately started lining up in the middle of the room to be chosen for Wizards and Warlocks. Adam was the most enthusiastic of all, and Oliver and I followed closely behind him. We stood on opposite sides of Adam, who was the first to be chosen. He had still never been on a losing team of the magic equivalent of Capture the Flag. Mark, Rose and I joined him on the Wizards team that year, and the rest of the old seventh years ended up with the Warlocks. Only Tara chose not to play, saying that she should stay with her daughter, and I'm sure Tara welcomed the excuse not to participate.

Once everyone who wanted to play had been separated into opposing teams, Mr. Wood explained the rules briefly, passed out armbands, and sent the teams out to hide their flags. Rose and I fell to the back of the group of Wizards, who decided to hide the flag on the ground behind a tree near the center of our side of the large, wooded yard.

One of the rules in Wizards and Warlocks was that only two people could 'guard' the flag, so some of the older men on our team came up with a strategy that involved sending some pairs of people as pseudo-guards. All that the pairs had to do was listen for people approaching and convince members of the opposing team that the flag was near them. The Warlocks would obviously come closer to try to spot the flag, and the fake guards could not only tag them, but do so in a way that implied that the Warlocks had gotten too close to the flag for comfort. Hopefully the opposing team could never figure out exactly where the real flag was.

Rose knew an easy job when she heard one, and she immediately volunteered to watch over a nonexistent flag. Since she was the only one on my team (except for Mark and Adam, who would certainly pair up) that I knew, I said that I would be a decoy with her. She approved the idea, and the two of us hurried off near the west edge of the grounds to find a suitable spot to stand throughout the game. Not long after we'd found a nice, large tree to stroll around, a horn sounded the beginning of the first out of a potential three games.

The game ended up making the match in which I'd ended up in a net with Oliver seem like the epitome of fun. Everything that Rose and I could have spoken of, we had already covered during the long conversation with the other seventh years during dinner. And, I suppose, we weren't really supposed to be speaking anyway. A few Warlocks fell for our trap at the beginning of the game, but we apparently weren't convincing enough in our role because it was clear that the other team had learned to avoid our area of the playing field by the middle of the forty-minute long game.

The two of us ended up sitting on the ground with our backs up against a large tree, and my mind started wandering back to the conversation with Oliver. Again, I had to concentrate on making sure that I didn't heed a few of the things I was thinking. I tried to focus on the things that he'd apologized for instead of the apologies themselves. I reflected on how I had almost failed at helping him instead of how much he had assisted me. And I thought a lot about how I meant to follow through with my promise to always be his _friend_, no matter what.

"Your hair looks like shit," Rose said loudly.

I looked over at her quickly, scowling. "Thanks a lot."

She smirked. "You should have heard what I said about your cloak. Your hair was about the… fifth thing I insulted, trying to get your attention."

"Oh," I said, looking into the distance on the off chance that someone from the other team would come into view, giving me an excuse to get up. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Rose said, and she meant it. "What I said three times before trying to get your attention was that I think the game should be over soon."

I checked my watch. "It's only been a little over half an hour. We could be here for another hour."

"Nice optimism," Rose said sarcastically.

I laughed a little. "Sorry."

The two of fell back into silence, and my thoughts quickly went back to where they'd been before she'd interrupted them.

"I haven't been paying much attention to you and Oliver tonight," Rose said, and I was pretty sure that she wasn't repeating herself.

I turned to look at her profile in the dim light again, shrugging. "You haven't been paying much attention to anyone tonight except for Flint. We didn't take it personally," I joked.

"True," Rose said shortly, "but now that I'm paying more attention…."

She'd let her sentence trail off, but I was confident that I wasn't going to like what was sure to come.

"I'm glad that you're so happy," I tried to distract her, saying the first thing I could think of that had nothing to do with me.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"You're in love with Oliver," she said bluntly without missing a beat.

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out of my mouth. I just sat on the cold ground with my mouth gaping open while leaning up against a tree in the middle of what was turning out to be a boring—and now embarrassing—match of Wizards and Warlocks.

"Things could be worse," Rose said, not putting any more emotion into her voice, "because he's in love with you, too."

Spoken language was still lost on me.

"Mark mentioned that the two of you were outside for quite a long time, which all of us know means that the two of you were fighting about something or other. Doubtlessly something that happened years ago."

I couldn't deny that, although she paused to offer me the opportunity to do so.

"And if the two of you were left to yourselves, it would probably take another… six months before you finally admitted to each _other_ that you loved each other. However, I'm sure that at this very moment Joan is plotting ways to put you into an uncomfortable situation that—sure—will speed up the process, but… I know that Joan's set-ups are far from fun."

"You've been through one?" I muttered.

"Three. We won't go there. It's not the point. The point is that you are quite possibly the second most stubborn person on the face of the Earth, only second to Oliver, but you're not stupid. Your choices are to talk to Oliver on your own terms or to suffer through one of Joan's 'good deeds'. I know what I would pick."

I was a little more uncertain.

"Oh, come on, Laura," Rose said, making sure that I could see her rolling her eyes. "Take your happiness into your own hands for once."

"I've taken my happiness into my own hands before," I snapped.

"Then do it again," she responded. A horn sounded from the house, easily gaining our full attention. "We won," she said simply, standing.

I followed her cue and the two of us stretched our backs before starting towards the source of the loud sound to rejoin our team. Rose didn't continue the lecture. She left me to my own thoughts, which was even worse than listening to her preach at me.

The second match between Adam's Wizards and the Warlocks was hardly a contest. We Wizards abandoned the fake-flag approach, even though it had worked, and instead sent as many pairs as possible into the opposing side. Even though many people were tagged at the beginning of the game, we located the flag within ten minutes. After that, it was only a matter of negotiating it so that a large group of us Wizards arrived at the flag at the same time, overwhelming the guards and safely running the opposing team's flag over to our side of the playing field, hence winning the game.

Both sides were happy with the quick match, not only because they considered the Wizards' win to be inevitable because that's what side Adam was on, but because there was plenty of time for a Quidditch match. There was a small open area near the house (avoided during Wizards and Warlocks for obvious strategic reasons) with goals set up on both sides. The pitch wasn't the official length of a professional Quidditch pitch, but both sides had the same advantages and disadvantages from the size difference, so it worked.

People who had stayed inside during Wizards and Warlocks came outside to watch the Quidditch match. Evidently it had been several years since a team had won the two-out-of-three games required to end the Wizards and Warlocks competition in only two games, so the guests were excited to see the return of Quidditch to the New Year's party. I had a small suspicion that they were also interested in seeing the new Puddlemere Keeper play in his own backyard. I let myself admit to myself that I wanted to see the same thing.

There were no stands or bleachers for the spectators, who instead gathered on the ground on the edges of the pitch. Some stronger lights than the ones in the backyard were brought outside and pointed towards the sky, making it possible for the Quidditch players to see what they were doing and for the people on the ground to watch.

Choosing teams was much less official than it had been for Wizards and Warlocks. Oliver and Mr. Wood were the captains for the two teams, and they asked whomever they wanted (of those who had brought brooms) to join them. Adam and Mark were automatically on Oliver's team, and I gathered with the rest of the seventh years to cheer them on. Most of the crowd was more apt to cheer for Mr. Wood's team. Everyone likes the underdogs.

"Would any of you like to play?" Oliver asked, walking up behind me and addressing the group.

"We say no absolutely every year," Rose said from Flint's arms. If anything, they'd gotten even… 'cuter' after being reunited after the long separation caused by being on opposite teams during the previous two games of Wizards and Warlocks.

"I'll play," Flint said, squeezing his wife a little tighter.

"You'll have to let go," I muttered.

Oliver laughed quietly behind me. "OK, then with the Weasley twins, I've got a full team. Come with me."

After a kiss from Rose, Flint complied with Oliver's instructions.

"You didn't want to play, did you, Laura?" Oliver asked after he'd walked several steps away.

I turned. "No. I definitely don't."

He smirked. "Just thought I'd ask."

"Thanks, but no," I repeated.

He nodded and hurried off to strategize quickly before the match. I avoided Rose's gaze as I turned back to the group. I listened as my friends talked about some other Quidditch matches they remembered from when they were younger. This was the first year that Oliver's team was expected to win, although it wouldn't be the first year they _did_ win.

Fourteen wizards and witches on brooms were in the air within fifteen minutes of when Flint had joined Oliver's team. Mr. Wood's team wore some red reflective tape on the backs and sleeves of their normal cloaks so that the people on the ground could tell who was on each team. (I also thought that it might give Mr. Wood's team a slight advantage because they could more easily see each other in the air.)

The red tape didn't prove to be enough of an advantage. Mr. Wood's Keeper was more than competent, especially considering the strange lighting, but Oliver was professionally trained. He'd been good at Hogwarts, but even I could tell that he'd gotten better. The other players had a very small chance of putting the Quaffle past him.

"You _let_ that in!" Mr. Wood accused after making the only goal his team would make.

"Only if you can prove it," Oliver said seriously and loudly enough that everyone on the ground could hear him.

Mr. Wood laughed heartily before jokingly shaking his fist at his son and flying after the other Chasers to the opposite side of the small pitch.

Flint captured the Snitch (one charmed to stay within a certain area, like the ones I had seen in the window at the Quidditch Supply shop) after about half an hour, securing a win for Oliver's team. The crowd clapped politely before heading back inside, where it was warm. We former classmates waited on the sidelines for our friends, who joined us, still excited by their predicted win. The boys led the way back into the Woods' home and into the large room where the party was taking place.

Joan joined me at the rear of the group. Made a bit paranoid by Rose's warnings, I kept Joan involved in a conversation about her experiences at St. Mungo's so that she wouldn't have a chance to pick her own subject matter. We continued the chat once we'd entered the room, which was less crowded than it had been during dinner. Several people were hovering nearby Mr. and Mrs. Wood, trying to appear as if they weren't waiting for their chance to thank their hosts and to excuse themselves from the party.

Evan interrupted my talk with Joan to ask her to dance, which I urged her to accept. She did so, although she looked a little hurt by my apparent excitement to get rid of her. I smiled and told her that I didn't want to take time away from Evan, which he laughingly thanked me for. Joan accepted the excuse and joined her boyfriend on the dance floor, which held several couples, mainly middle-aged.

I stood in place, uncertain what I should do. I glanced over at the table that I'd eaten dinner at, but no one was sitting there, and I didn't really feel like sitting alone, waiting for someone to join me. I glanced at my watch, noting that it was a little after three. Seeing a good reason to be tired allowed everything that had happened to catch up with me, and I yawned. Carefully surveying the room, I finally spotted Oliver with his back to me, getting a late-night snack at a table with Adam and Mark. The knot in my stomach gave me one more reason to call it a night, and I walked over, intending to thank him for extending his cousin's invitation and for the nice evening.

I would have done exactly that had I not caught my name while approaching the group of three friends. I stopped in my tracks, and none of the boys noticed that I had approached. I moved a little closer so that I could hear their conversation, justifying my eavesdropping by telling myself that, if they were talking about me, I had a right to know what they were saying. The truth is that I probably would have considered eavesdropping even if I hadn't heard my name.

"You saw how quickly she ran away, Adam," Oliver said, holding a cookie (not one of mine), but not seeming very interested in eating it.

"It was almost time for the fireworks. I would have run, too, mate," Adam said before taking a bite of something.

Oliver shook his head. "No. Believe me, she was running from me." He brought a hand up to his forehead. "I shouldn't have asked her if there was still a chance 'for us'," he mimicked himself.

Mark started laughing, although, to be fair, he did try to mask the laugh by pretending to cough loudly. "Sorry, Wood," he apologized. "I'm sure that had nothing to do with it," Mark lied, turning his head to search the table for something to eat.

Oliver turned his head to glare at Mark, and I froze to avoid being caught in the act of listening when I shouldn't have been. Fortunately, Oliver turned his gaze back to the food.

"She's hardly looked at me since then," Oliver continued, finally taking a bite out of the cookie.

"She's hardly been _around_ you since then," Mark reasoned.

"What should I do?" Oliver asked, putting a hand on the table and leaning forward to shift his weight off his legs.

Adam shrugged. "You could tell her how you feel," he said simply with a mouth half-full of food.

"How _do_ you feel?" Mark asked, looking over at his friend, barely managing not to laugh.

Oliver didn't notice Mark's amusement. "I love her," he said, sounding as if he was surrendering.

A large smile spread across my face without my thinking about it as I ignored the tone of voice, hearing only the words. Hell, I _understood_ the tone of his voice. We _both_ were giving in. Our whole relationship involved giving in. We'd given into our assumptions during our fight during our second year. We'd given into loneliness when we became friends during seventh year. We'd given into our feelings later that year. No one else on Earth at that moment could have understood why Oliver sounded so defeated as I did.

"Oh Merlin… don't say you never stopped loving her," Mark said completely seriously, the smile on his face turning into a mocking grimace.

Adam nodded, laughing. "It's cliché," he added.

Oliver started to turn his body so that he could glare at his friends a bit more effectively and possibly so that he could walk away from them. Why he turned wasn't really important at the time. What was important was that I was about to get caught eavesdropping. I had to either run or say something.

"I never stopped," I said quickly, loudly and clearly enough to be heard by all three boys standing in front of me.

My smile only slightly faltered when all of them spun around, Oliver the most quickly, and I realized what I had just said. No one responded to my outburst, and I didn't take my eyes away from Oliver. At first, he looked nothing if not horrified, and blood rushed into his cheeks. But, as he saw my smile, the horror started to be replaced with hope.

"What?" Oliver asked after several seconds, a smile starting to play at his own lips.

"I loved you," I said, trying to sound calm. "…And I never stopped."

Again, silence fell between the four of us. Oliver's smile grew bigger, and I took a moment to glance over at Mark and Adam, who were also grinning, although still looking surprised.

Adam looked over at Mark. "I'll be damned," he said simply and sincerely.

Mark didn't take his eyes off me. "Why didn't you say something sooner? You were killing the poor bloke," he motioned towards Oliver.

I followed Mark's gesture and looked back at Oliver, who was still staring.

I laughed, releasing some of my nerves so that my voice wouldn't shake. I was scared. Not scared that things weren't going to turn out well. Not scared that I was going to be rejected. I was scared by the possibilities of what would happened after everything _did_ turn out well.

"Because I'm stupid," I said, answering Mark's question. "And because I'm stubborn. And proud as hell." I let my broad, idiotic smile show a bit of an apology. "But mainly stupid."

All of us looked to Oliver for a response, but he was unable or unwilling to give one at the moment.

"She's not the only stupid one," Mark said to Oliver.

"No," Oliver admitted before laughing.

Oliver beamed down at me, but he didn't move. After several seconds of nothing happening, Adam finally snapped.

"Just kiss her!" he said impatiently.

Oliver nodded once before taking the few steps necessary to reach me. He put his arms around me so that his hands were on my back before pulling me to him, bending down and bringing his lips to mine. I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around his neck, convincing myself that everything was really happening…and that it should be happening.

After a minute, I pulled away a little and put my hands lightly on both sides of Oliver's face. "_Please_ don't screw it all up this time. It will take another five years to fix everything. And I don't like the five years between when we're friends."

Oliver smiled sweetly, drawing me even closer to him. "It's your turn to screw up."

I laughed. "Don't _let_ me screw it up, or I probably will."

"That's probably true," Mark interjected.

Oliver shook his head, still looking down at me. (He didn't have much of a choice. His face was still between my hands.) "She won't."

I stood up on my toes and leaned my head to the side to kiss him again.

"For Merlin's sake…" Adam said. "If we don't stop them, they're going to be worse than Flint and Rose."

All of us laughed, and Mark and Adam jokingly walked on either side of Oliver and took him by the arms. They pulled him a few steps away from me, although he didn't look away.

Oliver remained a captive of Mark and Adam just long enough to ask, "Will you dance with me, Laura?"

I nodded without any hesitation. "Yes."

Mark and Adam let go so that Oliver could lead me to the dance floor. I glanced back to smile at them thankfully and spotted Mr. Wood standing near where everything had taken place. He was watching Oliver and me seriously, his gaze stern, and I suspected that I hadn't been the only eavesdropper that night. I gave him a small smile. At first, I was met only by coldness. Then Mr. Wood looked down and turned his back on us. My smile disappeared, but not for long. Oliver stopped walking and faced me, putting one hand on my lower back before bending down to kiss me quickly.

As Oliver took my hand that wasn't on his shoulder to dance, we heard a loud noise of excitement coming from across the room. Although the noise stopped instantly, it gained Oliver's attention and mine. We began dancing, but did not move in a circle as Oliver had taught me to do five years previously. Instead, we both intently watched Joan, who had taken the lead from Evan and was turning their dance into a trek across the floor towards Oliver and me. It took her longer to reach us than it should have; box steps are not the most efficient way of traveling.

When Joan and Evan finally came up next to us, Joan, smiling madly, stopped dancing and drew Oliver and me into a large hug. Oliver and I let go of each other's hands to return her hug. She pulled away quickly, taking our hands and pushing them back together. Oliver squeezed my hand and grinned, but we faced our friend instead of continuing our dance.

"Oh, I'm so happy that the two of you finally came to your senses!" she said, tears entering her eyes.

"You can stop plotting against us now," Oliver said laughingly.

Joan looked at him, her eyes widening out of indignation. "I was not plotting against you two."

Oliver and I gave her skeptical looks.

"I was plotting _for_ you," she muttered, grinning up at us.

"I was helping," Evan admitted. He reached out and hit Oliver in the shoulder sympathetically. "I was actually going to feel badly for putting you through it, Wood."

"You wouldn't have felt badly," Oliver countered.

"No, probably not." Evan laughed, sounding insanely like his older brother.

"So when's the wedding?" Joan asked seriously, looking at me.

I turned bright red, but I couldn't help laughing. "It's kind of early—"

"Early? He fell in love with you ten years ago."

"_Ten_ years?" Oliver asked quickly.

"Yeah, when you were first starting school," Joan said.

Oliver shook his head. "That's not true," he said quickly.

Joan looked surprised, but she recovered quickly. "Anyway, there will be a wedding, right?"

Oliver and I didn't say anything. I glanced up at him to see him peeking down at me. Both of us started turning red and looked away, which made all four of us laugh.

"There will be a wedding," Joan said quite seriously to Evan after the laughter had died down. "I didn't go through all of that work during our seventh year for nothing."

"If we leave them alone, maybe he'll ask her," Evan suggested, looking over at the two of us and giving us a quick grin. I thought that Adam probably would have winked, but Evan was a _bit_ more subtle than his brother.

Joan laughed and looked at Evan. "Are you telling me I should leave them alone?"

"Would I tell you that?" Evan joked.

Joan rolled her eyes at him before looking directly at me. "I'll leave, but I'd better have a good spot to watch the wedding. And I don't mean a seat in the front row."

I grinned. "I know what you mean."

"And…?" she prompted.

"I don't think you're supposed to request to be a bridesmaid at—" Evan started.

"Oh, is that what you're talking about?" Oliver interjected. "Well, hell, who else would we make the Matron of Honor?"

I slowly moved my head to look at him questioningly.

"Hypothetically," Oliver added quickly.

Joan almost giggled. "Let's leave these two alone, Evan," she said as if it had been her idea. "Have a nice night, you two."

The couple ended up deciding to leave for the night, and they quickly thanked Oliver for inviting them, promising that they'd come again the following year.

As I hugged Joan goodbye, I whispered, "Thanks for being so nosy." I smiled at her gratefully as we pulled out of the hug.

"I'm only so nosy because I care," Joan said so that all of us could hear her.

Evan laughed even harder than I did. He put his hand on his girlfriend's back and started to lead her away. "I hear that every day," he said over his shoulder as the couple left Oliver and me alone in the middle of the dance floor.

"Do you think she really was coming up with a plan for how to get us back together?" I asked, moving my eyes off the retreating couple and back to the man holding my hand.

"I have no doubts that she was," Oliver said completely seriously.

I grinned. "We're lucky we had her."

Oliver nodded. "We wouldn't be standing here, together, without her," he acknowledged.

"We'll make it up to her someday."

He nodded again, smiling broadly.

I let go of his hand so that I could put both of my hands behind his head. I stood up on my toes to meet him halfway as he leaned down to kiss me. After several seconds, Oliver wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer and closer to him, turning our kiss into an ardent hug. I didn't protest; on the contrary, I slid my arms more around his shoulders so that I could hug him back. I didn't care that the two of us were standing in the middle of a still semi-crowded room in his parents' house. It had been a long time since he'd hugged me so fervently, and I didn't want him to let go.

"Laura?" Oliver asked.

"Oliver?" I said gently, placing my forehead against the hollow between his neck and his collarbone.

"I didn't fall in love with you ten years ago."

I smiled. "I know that."

"It was nine. I was a second year."

I blinked and moved back only far enough to be able to see his eyes. "You're lying."

Oliver shook his head slightly. "No. Second year. I won't say that I never stopped…."

"You're not lying," I said, pulling back just a little more to take in his whole face. "But…you can't fall in love when you're twelve."

He shrugged his shoulders a little, moving my arms that were resting on them. "You fell in love at fourteen. What's the difference?"

"I…don't know. Two years. …I wasn't even _thinking_ about this kind of thing when we were twelve."

"I wasn't _thinking_ about it. I didn't think about it for years." He laughed to himself. "You know when I finally did think about it?"

"No."

"When you scared the shit out of me in the Forbidden Forest. It was like when we were kids, joking around with Percy. Well… joking around with Percy present."

"Percy used to joke around with us, too."

Oliver nodded shortly. "Anyway, I remembered how much I missed you at that point."

I lowered my eyebrows a little, skeptically. "You hid it well."

"No. There was just nothing left to hide. Like I said… I couldn't honestly tell you that I never stopped loving you after our second year."

I looked around us quickly. Younger and middle-aged couples without children were scattered throughout the room, talking, and Mr. and Mrs. Wood were still dealing with an unending queue of quests to thank for coming and to invite back to the festivities the following year. Adam and Tara were standing at our table, Adam gathering their daughter's things and Tara holding the sleeping Claire. Cedar and Dave were sitting at the table, talking to Tara about something. Flint and Rose were flirting in a corner, and Mark was still at the table of food, searching for anything worthy of taking back to his flat. And Merlin only knew where Percy was.

…Everyone had changed so much since we'd started school. The relationships between us had changed. And I finally accepted it. We were different than we'd been at age eleven and twelve, but we weren't unrecognizable. And most of our relationships, though different, were still intact. The relationships that _hadn't_ changed had fallen apart.

"I just thought you'd like to know," Oliver said after waiting for a response.

I snapped out of my thoughts and smiled as sweetly as I could. "I am glad to know."

"I shouldn't have said anything. I mean… it was a long time ago."

"It was." I smirked slightly, teasingly. "Of course, it was the only thing you've admitted to me tonight that has made me want to kiss you more than it's made me want to kick you."

"The only thing?" Oliver asked, taking one of his arms from around me so that he could bring a hand through some of my hair.

"Yes," I said plainly. "The others were…how you told you dad drunken stories about me, how you didn't write to warn me about the danger you thought I was in, how you broke up with me for…very complicated reasons that I still don't understand, and for…um…."

"Being a horrible friend," Oliver helped.

"Right."

"Those are rather kick worthy offenses," he said, shrugging slightly again before moving his hand under my chin.

"Yes," I agreed.

"Though you apologized for some…rather heavy stuff, as well."

"Yes," I said more reluctantly.

He laughed under his breath at me before asking, "I haven't admitted anything else to you that's made you want to kiss me?"

I furrowed my brow, trying to think of something, but he interrupted my concentration.

"I haven't admitted that I love you?" he asked softly.

My heat skipped a beat. A smile lit my face quickly while my cheeks grew hot. "I think you might have told Mark and Adam."

He moved his hand from under my chin to my cheek. "I love you."

Simple. Three words. Three words that I'd heard from him… from a couple other men, my family and some close friends. Surely by now, after people have used the words so many times when they didn't really mean it or when they weren't really thinking about what they were saying, the phrase means very little. But to me, at that moment, the phrase wasn't worn out. It wasn't a cliché because in those words he'd said more than a cliché ever could. At that moment, those words meant… everything worth saying or worth feeling or hearing or touching or tasting. At that moment, the scene didn't remind me of every 'I love you' scene in any romance novel or movie because it wasn't like any of them.

"And I love you."

"I never stopped," he said, grinning in a way that showed me that the three words had meant just as much to him.

"Except after our second year," I reminded him.

He laughed loudly. "OK," he conceded.

I brought both of my arms from his shoulders and cupped his face, drawing closer to him.

"I'll never stop," I whispered.

Oliver didn't respond in words. He didn't have to.

Author's Note:

Only an epilogue left to wrap up a few loose ends, but this is the end of the main part of the story! I can hardly believe it's almost done. Expect a long author's note after the epilogue. Until then, I'll thank Marie (electronicquillster on Mugglenet. Read her story.) for all of her help with these last three chapters, and I'll thank all of the people who have given me their support. I can't say how much it has helped without using clichés, so I'll let a simple 'Thank you!' say it all.


	20. Epilogue: Weasleys and Woods

**Epilogue: Weasleys**

_(Part One of the Epilogue)_

Percy Weasley confidently opened the door to his small, one person flat. Despite it being barely six o'clock on a Monday morning, he was fully awake, already in his work attire—a plain, black cloak with a small Ministry seal on the chest—with a briefcase in hand.

"Laura? What are you doing here?" He stepped back, confused, but allowing me to enter the flat.

The place was clean and practical, but was also inhospitable. The living room had a sofa and a small chair, but the empty coffee table between the two pieces of furniture suggested that the living room received little use. I could barely see into the kitchen, which also was tidy. A few dishes in the sink waited to be washed and looked out of place.

"Is anything the matter?" Percy asked cautiously, shutting the door behind me.

"No." I turned my back on the flat to look at my old friend. It had been several months since I'd seen him. We'd spoken briefly in Diagon Alley a couple of months after I'd started dating Oliver again, but we'd only had enough time to exchange greetings before we both hurried off to work.

"You drop in on friends at six frequently?" Percy asked, smirking and carefully placing his briefcase at his feet.

I smiled at his joke. "It was the only time I was sure you'd be here. Although, it looks like I almost missed you."

Percy looked down at himself. "Oh. I have to stop by the Burrow to drop off some papers for Charlie. He's been trying to get the documentation to go to Brazil to study the dragons in the Amazon rainforest, but Brazil's Ministry of Magic is being a right pain, and—what are you doing here?" he finished, looking at me with curiosity.

"Catching up with a friend," I said, dodging the question.

"At six a.m.?"

"We're both morning people, anyway. And like I said, six a.m. was the only time I knew you'd be here, and not at work."

Percy still looked highly skeptical.

"So things are getting better with your family?" I pressed.

After a moment, he shrugged, resigning himself to the unexpected conversation. "I guess, slightly. More with Charlie than the rest. And Charlie's going to Brazil." Percy smiled thinly.

I wasn't surprised that Percy had made progress with Charlie over the rest of the family. Excepting Percy, Charlie had been the closest to Dan. Charlie was the Weasley most likely to understand exactly how the death had changed Percy.

"Is Charlie still unmarried?" I asked.

Percy nodded. "As single as ever." A more genuine smile started appearing. "Are you interested?"

The joke took me by surprise. I suppose I deserved it for having dropped in on Percy unannounced. Still, even though Percy jokingly had given me a hard time over many things while we were students at Hogwarts, he had never asked about people I might have liked, and he had rarely hinted at the subject. (There had been too great of a chance of it leading to awkward conversations, not unlike the one we were about to begin.) After the one time that Percy and I had spoken about whom I might like to date, he'd given me the silent treatment for weeks.

"No," I said after recovering from his question regarding Charlie. "No, I was just curious. What about you?"

Percy raised an eyebrow so that it appeared above the rim of his thick glasses. "Am I interested in Charlie?"

"No, you git, are you dating anyone?" I said, laughing.

"Oh." Percy laughed good-naturedly. "No, I'm not." He didn't seem upset by this, nor had I expected him to be. His focus was on other matters and always had been. "And you?"

I hadn't wanted to enter that topic of conversation so quickly, but it had been my own fault. Percy was obligated to ask me if I was dating anyone after I'd asked him. He would have appeared conceited if he hadn't. That's not to say that Percy wasn't conceited, but it is to say that his manners were good enough that he could slightly cover it up.

"I am," I said, wondering if Percy would let me leave it at that for the time being.

"Oh?" Percy asked, raising his eyebrows slightly. "I'd have thought that you'd be too busy at the _Prophet_ to bother with a relationship."

I ignored his word choice. "I am busy," I admitted.

"Does he work at the paper, too?" Percy asked.

"No."

"Well, that's good," Percy said. "Coworkers probably shouldn't date, anyway. It's unprofessional and leads to awkwardness in the workplace for everyone."

I laughed and decided that I would probably never tell Percy about Elliot, the sports reporter I'd dated and had neglected to invite to Joan and Adam's wedding.

"Percy, if you don't find a girlfriend at work, where will you find one?" I kidded.

Percy shrugged off my comment, but he smiled, making me suspect that perhaps Percy didn't always follow his own rules. I decided not to accuse him, though, since he probably would have denied an office relationship whether or not there had been one.

"So, why are you here?" Percy asked, and his tone surprised me. He was still obviously curious, but there was friendliness in his voice, too.

His kindly voice threw me off even more than the question on its own would have. For almost six years, I'd been imagining Percy in the way that most people saw him. I had thought of Percy as nothing more than a workaholic without a sense of humor who would never be truly happy because work made him neglect all relationships. I'd thought of him as proper to the point of being stiff. Polite to the point of being cold. Proud to the point of being so stubborn that he would never allow himself to learn how things might be better.

For six years, I'd forgotten my friend. Percy was all of those things that I'd remembered during the years after Hogwarts; people weren't being unjust when they saw him that way. No one had the time or the will to see anything more. While we were students, until he'd started dating Penelope, I'd been able to see that sometimes Percy _wasn't_ being completely serious; when he made a joke, he smirked, a facial expression most people mistook for more proof of Percy's arrogance. I'd been able to see that Percy's work ethic carried over into his very few friendships. His relationships didn't fail because he stopped trying; they failed when his friends stopped trying to just like Percy for who he was because Percy sure as hell wasn't going to change.

Nor should he have had to change.

"Laura?" Percy prompted.

I snapped out of my thoughts, suddenly more confident that I wanted to ask Percy to do what I'd come to ask him to do.

"I'm getting married," I said quickly.

Percy blinked. "You're kidding."

I shook my head and then smiled slightly, as I always did when I thought about the subject, as pathetic or sickening as that may sound.

"To anyone I know?" Percy asked, bracing himself for the answer.

I paused. I'd tried to predict how Percy would take the news, but had been unable to decide what his reaction would be. "Oliver."

"Wood?" Percy asked, his eyes widening noticeably and his eyebrows reappearing over the rims of his glasses. He stared at me for several seconds before pressing his lips together. It took him several more seconds before he was able to manage a toothless smile. "I see," he said, trying to sound cheerful.

I laughed a little, nervously. "I thought you'd take it a bit worse than that, actually."

"It's been a long time," Percy said, but he dropped the fake smile.

"Yes, it has," I agreed.

"I thought you'd broken up."

"We started dating again at the beginning of the year."

"And you're already getting married?" Percy asked disapprovingly.

I shrugged. "I've known him most of my life."

"You weren't speaking to him most of your life," Percy corrected me.

"At least I know what it will be like after the honeymoon period," I joked. I'd planned counterarguments for all of the obvious points that Percy would make.

Percy actually laughed slightly, and I joined him out of relief.

"Did you come here just to break the news to me?" Percy asked, smirking a little.

"Not exactly," I said.

Percy raised his eyebrows yet again. He sighed and crossed his arms, looking down at the ground. After a few moments, he lifted his head and nodded at me once. "All right. I'm ready. When's the baby due?"

My mouth dropped open slightly before I started laughing loudly.

"Well, it was rather obvious," Percy said, grossly misinterpreting my laughter.

"I'm not pregnant," I said, still giggling even though I had probably just been insulted. "Believe it or not, Oliver proposed of his own accord."

"I see," he said, uncrossing his arms. He looked at me very carefully for several seconds, and I had to look away from him for one of the only times in our long friendship. "You'll be happy with him," he said, finally, and it wasn't difficult to detect sadness.

I snapped my gaze back to his eyes, but he lowered his look.

"That doesn't mean you lost your fight with him," I said plainly. "It has nothing to do with that."

"I know," Percy said. "I just…." He slowly raised his eyes so that they would meet mine, and he sighed. "It's hard for me to accept that you're going to marry anyone else except…."

I took a step forward and placed my hand on Percy's shoulder, but that didn't feel right. I moved my hand away from his shoulder so that I could hold his hand.

"I don't need you to hold my hand anymore, Laura," he said quietly, smiling with half of his mouth as he glanced down at my smaller hand grasping his.

"I know, but I will anytime it will help," I said, but I let his hand fall to his side and put my own hands in the pockets of my cloak.

The two of us stood in silence for a minute, looking anywhere but at each other. I noticed that there were a few pictures on the fireplace, so I walked over so that I could see what photographs were in the frames sitting on the mantle. There were a couple of rather old, formal pictures of the Weasley family and a copy of the photograph of the Weasleys in Egypt, which had been in the _Prophet_. I smiled when I saw a candid shot of Percy, Dan and me sitting at the kitchen table, eating and laughing.

"There aren't any other pictures of the three of us. That's the only one," Percy said from the same place near the door.

"I'm surprised that there are any pictures of the three of us," I said, taking the picture off the mantle to look at it more carefully. My eyes traveled to Dan, who was the closest to the camera. His image smiled before eating a forkful of eggs. He was seventeen in that picture, but he looked young to me; it seemed as if it had been a long time since I'd been seventeen.

It had been a long time since I had seen Dan. Even a picture of him. It struck me that he hadn't been quite as handsome as I remembered him being. He looked very much like Percy did without glasses. Actually, I thought that Percy might have ended up being slightly more handsome than his older brother. Dan waved as I put the picture back on the mantle. I turned my back on the photograph, trying to get the image out of my mind because a lump was forming in my throat.

"OK?" Percy asked.

I nodded and moved across the small room to take my original place.

"You're sure?" he pressed, watching my face carefully to see if I was lying.

"Yeah. I'm fine; it's been a long time."

Percy thought for several moments before responding, "I guess that helps."

Maybe I was kidding myself, but I thought that time had helped him. Hell, Percy was _talking_ about Dan. Willingly. To me.

And, he didn't need me to hold his hand….

"So, you're not pregnant…. Then what is the other thing you came to tell me?" Percy asked, changing the subject.

I paused before deciding that I'd put off my proposition long enough. "I came to ask you to be in the wedding."

Percy wrinkled his brow and frowned slightly.

"As a groomsman," I clarified.

"In your wedding?" he asked.

"Yes. In March. So, in about five months."

"As Wood's groomsman?" Percy asked with dislike.

"Not Wood's groomsman," I said, knowing that it was my only chance of convincing him. "As my groomsman."

Percy laughed a little. "I don't think it works that way, Laura."

"Says who?" I asked juvenilely.

"Says everyone," Percy said definitively. There was no point in arguing the point further. Percy wasn't one to go against tradition, and if everyone said that something was done a certain way, then that was that, in Percy's opinion.

"Please, Percy. I'm not asking. I'm begging. How often have you had the pleasure of seeing me beg for something?"

Percy took a moment to count before shaking his head slightly and shrugging. "Less than a handful," he admitted.

"You should be in my wedding, Perce. You were my best friend for over six years."

To my delight, Percy seemed to be giving in a little. He furrowed his brow for a minute, thinking. "I'm assuming that you have one bridesmaid too many and need another male," he said, almost snappishly.

I nodded, seeing no reason to lie. "You don't want Cedar to walk down the aisle by herself, do you?"

"I see no reason why she couldn't. The flower girl will. Make her the flower girl," Percy said impertinently.

I smirked up at him. "Very funny."

Percy laughed a bit, obviously thinking that what I'd said was true. "Why are you really asking me to be a groomsman, Laura?"

"I told you," I refused to change my story. "You should be in the wedding. You were my best friend for—"

"'Over six years,'" Percy interrupted. "I can still tell when you're lying, by the way."

"So?" I said stubbornly.

"So, you're lying." He raised his hand when I opened my mouth to disagree. "Or, you're leaving out part of the truth."

If Percy could read other people as well as he could read me, the Ministry was in trouble; he'd be Minister of Magic before he was thirty if he could so easily catch people lying.

I took a few moments to test the believability of a few fibs before deciding that it was too early in the morning to try to outsmart Percy. I was a morning person, but I was sure that Percy had been awake for at least one more hour than I had, giving him the advantage of clearer thinking.

"If you're not a groomsman, it'll be Oliver's dad," I muttered.

Percy had a nice laugh over that statement. He stopped chuckling just before I was about to withdraw my invitation altogether. "Troubles with the in-laws already?"

"Only one of them, thanks," I snapped, still bristling a bit from him laughing in my face for a few minutes.

"I never thought badly of Mr. Wood. He's always pleasant enough when we share an elevator at the Ministry," Percy said, still smiling widely.

"Believe me; he hates you. Oliver's told him all about what happened during our second year."

"That was eleven years ago."

I raised one of my eyebrows. "I don't see you or Oliver rushing to forgive one another after eleven years."

Percy rolled his eyes. "That's different."

"Of course," I said sarcastically.

Percy ignored my snide comment. "Clearly Wood's forgiven _you_. Why should his father care about something stupid that happened over a decade ago?"

"If I knew that," I said as if I were talking to a two-year-old, "then we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Percy stopped humoring me. "I can't be Wood's groomsman."

I clenched my fists in my pockets, trying to release some irritation. "I talked to Oliver first, you know. He said that if you said yes—"

"He said that because he knew I wouldn't agree to it."

"Prove him wrong!"

Percy shook his head. "Just talk to Mr. Wood. I'm sure that things aren't as bad between the two of you as you claim."

I took my hands out of my pockets and crossed my arms, showing him that I disagreed instead of yelling at him.

"Talk to Mr. Wood," Percy said more insistently, yet with a calmness with which I couldn't argue.

I had to accept it; Percy would dance naked in front of the Wizengamot before he agreed to be one of Oliver Wood's groomsman. I'd known he'd disappoint me before I'd even knocked on the door, but I'd had to ask.

"Thanks anyway," I muttered insincerely.

Percy laughed a little. "Do you have any other news to break?"

I shook my head.

"OK." Percy checked his watch. "It's getting close to seven. I guess I'll drop off these papers during lunch. Or I'll just have Dad bring them home for me."

"Work at the Ministry doesn't start until nine. Go to the Burrow and visit with your family, Percy," I said, trying to sound as stern as he had when telling me to talk to Mr. Wood.

Percy looked at me before nodding. "I will."

"You'll at least come to the wedding? As a guest?" I asked.

"What day?"

"March second."

"If I'm not working," Percy said.

"If you're not working?" I repeated, calmly at the beginning of the sentence, but quickly losing control of my voice. "Are you serious? You have five months to clear the date with the Ministry! A Saturday, by the—"

"I wasn't serious," Percy interrupted, talking quickly. He bent down and picked up the briefcase resting by his feet. "I'll go."

"You're damned right you'll go," I snapped. "Six years—"

"Yes, six years, but that was six years ago, Laura," Percy retorted. "We've hardly spoken for six years, and you come making demands."

"I put in more than enough effort six years ago for you to go to a damned wedding _twenty_ years later," I said bitterly and much more harshly than I'd meant to.

"I'm coming!"

"Don't, if you don't want to go to your friend's—"

He interrupted, "If you weren't marrying—"

"Oh, will you get over that?"

"No, I won't!" Percy dropped the suitcase so that he could use both of his hands while speaking…or yelling. "Will _you_ ever accept that? I bet you don't give Wood hell for that damned fight anymore," he said while motioning threateningly in the direction I assumed was north, the direction in which he would assume Oliver was.

"No, I don't give Oliver hell over it. We have better things to talk about."

"Like wedding plans," Percy said, rolling his eyes.

"Just because they're not plans you ever plan on making—"

"That's untrue."

I laughed cruelly. "And when are you planning on meeting this woman? At your desk?"

"Plenty of women work at the Ministry," Percy said defensively.

"So, dating coworkers makes the workplace awkward, but marrying coworkers is perfectly acceptable?"

"If you came here to insult me, you shouldn't have come at all," Percy used his coldest, calmest voice.

"I came here to ask you to be in my wedding, you git. If I'd have known you'd attack my fiancé—"

"You brought him up!"

"He's an important part of the wedding!"

"And I'll be there! Now…it's getting late—"

"It's not even seven," I said, checking my watch just to be sure.

"And I'm going to work—"

"The Burrow, you mean."

"Whatever," Percy said impatiently. "Now, if there's anything else you'd like to say—"

"We've said enough," I replied angrily.

Percy didn't acknowledge the interruption. "If there's anything else you'd like to say, then we can get together at a better time." He leaned down to pick up his briefcase for the final time.

Before I knew what I was saying, I retorted, "Clearly we don't have anything to talk about anymore."

Percy froze briefly, briefcase in hand. Then he stared at me as he slowly straightened his legs. I didn't break my eye contact, but my look became less cold.

I'd said it. We didn't have anything to talk about anymore. We'd gone in separate directions and had barely looked back. I'd tried to turn to an old friend out of the bitterness I felt towards Mr. Wood for complicating my relationship with Oliver. Perhaps if I'd gone back to Percy because of a problem he _could_ have helped me with, he _would_ have helped. Instead, I'd come to him because of the wedding: the issue most likely to result in a fight.

That was my fault, but I couldn't undo it. Apologizing wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't give Percy and me something to have in common again. We no longer had Hogwarts or Gryffindor to bring us together. We no longer needed each other for companionship, and the two of us had long ago turned to other sources to help us deal with Dan's death: he'd turned to work and responsibility, and I'd turned to Oliver.

All of the small things that had made our friendship work were gone. We couldn't share the _Daily_ _Prophet_ over breakfast in the Great Hall. We couldn't walk to class together, talking about homework, current events and the normal gossip that flowed through the castle. We didn't have any more inside jokes that we could crack, which used to result in my laughter and a telling half-smirk from him. We didn't talk enough to sit in comfortable silence. Our work was too different for us to compete good-naturedly with each other, as we had over grades. (Yes, I'll admit that I almost always lost those competitions.)

I could no longer ask him how his family was because he couldn't bring himself to shrug and say 'Alive' anymore, not after two of his family members had died.

He could no longer listen to one of my simplest statements and know exactly what I meant because he didn't know enough about what was going on in my life (even if he could still tell when I was blatantly lying).

And, holding his hand didn't work anymore.

We had changed too much and our relationship had changed too little for anything to be how it was when we were kids; we didn't have the will to start over.

I looked down and Percy sighed deeply. I guessed that he had just come to the same realization.

"If you ever need anything…" he said slowly.

"Yes. You, too." I looked up into his face again, and he smiled a bit. "I mean, if you ever want to talk or…anything."

Percy nodded, almost imperceptivity.

I laughed a little, trying to relieve some of the awkwardness, only to feel more awkward afterwards. "I'll let you get back to work. I mean, the Burrow."

"And I'll see you on your wedding day." Percy gave me one of his half-smirks, and it took a lot of effort for me not to cry as I said goodbye quickly and left the flat.

Ian had requested that I tell him how my visit with Percy went, and I strongly desired to see a friend, so I Apparated directly in front of the _Daily_ _Prophet_ office. I made my way through the almost empty building to the basement, which held the darkrooms. Ian and I still developed photos at the same time at least once a week so that we could keep in touch, but I knew that some mornings Ian came in early to develop stock photos.

"_Nox_," I said right before entering the darkroom the two of us preferred.

"Guess what!" Ian said before I'd even completely shut the door. He was in the corner of the room, brewing a cauldron full of Developing Potion. He didn't turn to see who had entered the room. From the tone of his voice, I suspected that even if it hadn't been me, he'd still want to share the information he had.

"No idea," I said, not in a mood to make a real guess or to try to make a joke.

"Brandon sneezed and the salt shaker disappeared!" He turned his head so that I could see his proud, fatherly grin.

I laughed at the image of the strange event his son's involuntary reflex had caused, and at what his father must have looked like when he realized his son had shown signs of magic at an early age. "That's great, Ian," I said genuinely, keeping a real smile on my face.

"Isn't it? I didn't show signs of magic until I was eight and a half. He does take after his mother, though. She made her own umbilical cord disappear."

I laughed again, even more heartily than before. "You're such a liar."

"I'm not! Sarah's mother swears to the fact. Of course, she's a horrible liar." Ian reached a point where the potion could brew itself for a few minutes, and he stood and faced me. "So…how was the meeting with Percy?"

"Horrible," I said, sitting on top of the table in the center of the room, which showed Ian how horribly it had gone because there was an unwritten rule in that room not to take up space that pictures could be using.

"That bad?" he asked.

"Worse than that bad." I didn't feel as if I was exaggerating. "I think we broke up."

Ian laughed at my attempt at humor, as a good friend should in such a situation. While he worked on the potion, I recounted what had happened. He nodded and agreed at the appropriate times, which probably resulted in a _bit_ of exaggeration on my part. I stayed _almost_ perfectly true to what had happened at Percy's flat; the only part I completely left out was Dan's photograph.

After I finished, Ian took a minute to piece together my ramblings. "Well," he said, and his tone warned me that optimism was about to follow, "at least Mr. Wood won't be the Best Man. Just a normal groomsman."

"That's the best you can come up with?"

Ian stood up straight and spun around, turning his back on the cauldrons in the corner. "What do you mean?"

"I thought you were going to look on the bright side."

"That _was _the bright side," Ian said.

I sighed miserably and slid off the table. "I think I might feel even worse."

"You _do _have an excellent Best Man."

"Yeah," I said. "He's a really humble bloke."

"I'm humble."

I smiled.

"OK," Ian conceded. "I _am_ trying to make you feel better, though."

"You're failing."

"What can I do?" Ian asked.

"Will you walk down the aisle twice? Once with Joan, once with Cedar?"

Ian laughed and shook his head slightly. "Something tells me that that's not the best way to improve your relationship with Frank Wood."

After a brief scare from the potion, which made a few rather threatening _pop_s that we feared might result in a _boom_, Ian was able to continue the conversation.

"Have you ever tried to talk to Oliver's dad about everything?"

I snorted. "Of course not. Both of us pretend that everything's just fine when we're around each other."

"Maybe everything _is_ just fine," Ian offered. The potion was finished, and he turned his attention to preparing the film.

I picked up a stack of trays and walked over to the cauldron. "It's not. We're just pretending for Oliver's sake." I ladled a couple cups into a tray and placed it on the table.

Ian thanked me for helping, and I told him that it was no problem. I continued filling trays with potion, and Ian started putting the photographs in the potion to develop.

After a few minutes, Ian said, "It sounds like Oliver is the problem."

"What?"

"Now, don't get upset," Ian hurried. "I meant that if Mr. Wood and you want to pretend while Oliver's around, talk to him when Oliver's _not_ around."

Ian's suggestion was too logical to argue with, but it still didn't seem like a good idea. "I wouldn't know what to say."

"What would you _like_ to say?"

I had been walking around the table to find an empty spot for the tray I was carrying, but I stopped to answer Ian's question. "I'd like to tell him that I think he's a bastard for trying to keep me away from his son for no reason."

Ian laughed. "Well, take the name-calling out, and you've got a start."

I laughed, too. "I'm not stupid. Not that stupid, anyway."

"I wonder sometimes," Ian kidded. At least, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed he was only joking.

"Laura, I know that Frank Wood has never gone out of his way to welcome you—"

My look clearly said I thought Ian's statement hadn't been strong enough.

Ian eased a piece of photography paper into a tray I'd filled. As if I hadn't interrupted, he continued, "But, has he done anything unforgivable?"

Begrudgingly, I admitted that he had not, but I stopped filling trays for Ian. Not that he noticed my revenge—I'd filled enough already.

"Talk to him before Oliver asks him to be a groomsman, if you can. What you say will come across more genuinely. If you wait, Oliver's dad might think you're talking to him only because you want the wedding to go well."

"That is why I'm going to talk to him," I lied.

"Well, just don't tell him that," Ian replied. "And, if you come back from that little kid—"

"Bernard."

"Bernard. If you come back from _Bernard's_ birthday party without talking to Frank, I'll kick your—"

"You couldn't kick my arse if you tried," I said, laughing at him. "We both know I could take you in any duel."

We argued over who would come out ahead in a duel between us for several minutes while Ian finished putting his photographs into the trays of Developing Potion. During the few minutes Ian had to wait before he could begin hanging the pictures to dry, we went into the hallway to talk, both because I was going to leave the room soon anyway and because it was slightly cooler in the corridor, away from the cauldrons.

"Bernard's birthday party is tonight," I said in a lull in our conversation.

"Not much time to figure out what you're going to say to Frank Wood, then," Ian replied seriously.

I looked at him for a few seconds. "You won't really start a duel if I come back without having spoken to Mr. Wood, will you?"

"Oh, yes, I will! Merlin, Laura, don't be a coward—"

"I'm not a coward!" There are a few words you never call a fellow Gryffindor, and 'coward' is one of them. "I was only kidding," I said under my breath, glaring at the floor because if I glared at Ian, he'd say something worse.

I walked away from Ian, muttering. "As if I'm afraid of Mr. Wood. I don't have anything to be afraid of; after all, I'm right and he's wrong."

"Laura!" Ian called when I reached the staircase.

I turned after completing my last spoken thought to myself. Ian had one hand on the door handle to the darkroom, and he raised the other hand, which was holding his wand, to wave goodbye.

"Good luck," he said.

"If this goes badly, you'll get your duel after all," I threatened, only half-jokingly.

"It will go fine, but I'm more than willing to prove to you that I would win the duel."

I laughed and shook my head. "I'll see you in a few days, Ian."

"Wouldn't miss it for the Philosopher's Stone." Ian pointed his wand at the light nearest to him and extinguished it.

I spent my day trying to come up with excuses not to attend the Wood's family gathering that was to occur that evening. I knew that I would never use any of the excuses I came up with; Bernard was the one member of the family (excepting Oliver, maybe) that I wouldn't disappoint if I could help it. Forming the excuses served its purpose, though. I was too busy plotting to think much about what had happened with Percy that morning, and I prevented myself from worrying too much over the conversation I knew I had to have with Oliver's father. (Although I am still too proud to admit it to Ian, I knew that he probably could beat me in a duel, and I was certain that he would start a duel if I didn't speak to Mr. Wood.)

**Epilogue: Woods**

_(Part Two of the Epilogue)_

Oliver Apparated to my small house in Hogsmeade after he finished Quidditch practice. Because of the wards I had placed on my house during the war, Oliver had to Apparate outside of the front door, but he didn't bother knocking.

"It hasn't rained this hard in a long time," Oliver said as a greeting, closing the door to keep the weather outside where it belonged.

I had been watching the dishes clean themselves, and I walked out of the kitchen, into the small living room. "You're not wet," I said.

"Of course not," Oliver replied, grinning. "I Apparated under the overhang."

"Then why are you complaining?" I asked, laughing as I hugged him.

He pulled back a bit so that he could kiss me shortly. After we walked over to the couch to sit down, Oliver asked, "So?"

I knew what he was asking about, and I sighed. "It went horribly."

"So he said no?"

"We both knew he'd say no. There for a few minutes, I thought Percy wasn't even going to agree to come to the wedding at all."

Oliver let me tell him what had happened. The story was a little shorter than when I'd told it to Ian; I'd forgotten some details over the day. I exaggerated more while talking to Oliver, but I didn't leave any parts out. Like Ian, Oliver was good at agreeing with me at the right moments and offering sympathy when I needed it.

"I should have come, too," Oliver said after I finished the story. "If I'd come and apologized—"

"I don't want you to apologize to him. All of that should be over by now, and all of us know that."

"But it might have helped," he persisted.

I shook my head. "No, you weren't really the problem, Oliver. The problem was that Percy and I hadn't spoken in about six years, and it was impossible for him to pretend like he could step into a role as big as the one I was asking him to step into."

Oliver put his arm around me, and I accepted his shoulder, but not because I needed it. "I'll be fine," I said, and I meant it. "It's not like anything's changed. Percy and I just…went separate ways. This morning had nothing to do with that."

"No, I guess you're right, but it's still not fun to suddenly realize that you aren't as close to someone as you were," Oliver said, leaving his arm where it was.

I looked up at him, and he smiled. I kissed him on the cheek and got up so that I could finish preparing for the party. Bernard's present was already wrapped—Oliver had done that months previously—but I had promised chocolate chip cookies and a homemade chocolate cake. The boxed cake mix made my cooking tasks relatively easy, although I had a harder time icing the cake than I should have. Finally, Oliver came into the kitchen and magicked the icing onto the cake.

"I thought magic makes it taste worse."

"They'll never know," Oliver said.

I grinned at him as I placed the lid on the pan in which I'd made the cake. After I lifted it off the counter, Oliver picked up the dish of cookies and the gift for Bernard, and we were ready to go to his parents' house.

"Meet you there," Oliver said before Disapparating.

I Apparated at the bottom of the few steps leading up to the Woods' front door. Oliver waited for me to walk beside him before raising a hand to open the door. Bernard must have heard Oliver and me Apparate; the door opened before Oliver could even touch the doorknob. Oliver's aunt, Celeste, was standing behind her son.

"Hooray, a present!" Bernard hugged Oliver's legs, then my legs, and then he reached up to Oliver. "I'll take the present to the dining room."

Oliver didn't protest. It was easier to hand him the gift and let him sprint off with it. It was rather amusing to watch the small boy run while carrying a box almost tall enough to cut off his line of sight. Bernard could hardly get his arms around it.

"I was so worried you'd get him a broomstick," Celeste said, sighing out of relief.

"I did," Oliver said simply. "Just put it in a big box to throw him off. Don't worry," he added after seeing his aunt's face. "It isn't a real broom. It can only fly about three feet in the air and not very fast at all."

"It doesn't have to fly fast or high for him to hurt himself," she said.

Oliver laughed. "You're not the overprotective type."

She grinned and shook her head. "Everyone's the overprotective type when her child is five." She hugged him in greeting (or in forgiveness; I'm not sure), and then hugged me as well. I smiled to myself when the hug seemed genuine, not a hug given out of mere politeness.

"Are we late?" Oliver asked. He'd been worried about keeping everyone waiting, but he couldn't get out of practice early. The captain had taken a week off for a funeral, and Oliver was in charge in his absence.

"Of course not," Celeste answered.

"Is everyone else here?" Oliver rephrased the question.

"Almost."

There was a sound from the small room that contained the fireplace used to travel by Floo Powder. Bernard tore back into the entryway and into the Floo room to greet the newcomers.

"Hooray! A present!" After a few seconds, the boy ran out of the room with another wrapped box.

"Are we last?" Mrs. Lanolin, Oliver's other aunt on his father's side, asked, walking up to our small group.

"Yes," Celeste replied simply, but kindly, hugging her older sister. "Where's—"

"Oh, John's taking his time. Come on, John. We're holding up the party."

Mrs. Lanolin's husband lumbered out of the fireplace room, not bothering to hide that he'd rather have been almost anywhere else. Mrs. Lanolin elbowed him in the side as soon as he was near enough. "Smile," she ordered. "It's the boy's birthday, not his funeral."

Mr. Lanolin managed to keep a small smile while exchanging civilities with us and then with the rest of family that had made it to the event. I understood why Mr. Lanolin thought of Wood family functions as a chore. The family was small, but close. The three Wood siblings communicated often. Most families have a lot to catch up on when they gather, and they rarely have to venture into uncomfortable topics of conversation; they can just fill each other in on what happened since the last holiday. The Woods already knew what the others in the family had done the previous _weekend_, so coming up with something to discuss could be difficult, especially for those of us who didn't have as much of a past with the family.

Dinner was served almost immediately after Oliver and I arrived, which took away a lot of the burden of conversation. If I didn't have anything to say, I didn't have to speak unless someone asked me a direct question, which I was happy to answer. I spent most of that meal in silence, content to listen to the light chattering surrounding me.

Bernard rushed his guests through dinner as quickly as he could by reminding us of the cake that was to follow. All of us knew that he really had more interest in the presents than the dessert, but the rest of the family genuinely seemed motivated to eat quickly in order to get to the "homemade" cake I'd made. And, to my pleasure, they weren't disappointed by the box-mix cake that they got, even though Oliver had cheated with the frosting.

Watching Bernard open his presents completely lifted the pressure to be social with the Woods. While the family made small talk about all of the gifts (of which Oliver's training broomstick was clearly the best), I was able to hide behind my camera, documenting the event for Bernard's parents and Mrs. Wood, who requested prints of whichever pictures I was willing to develop for her. Seeing as she was about to become my mother-in-law, I told her I was willing to develop copies of the whole roll, and she thanked me sincerely for the offer.

After the opening of the birthday presents, we weren't stuck in the dining room anymore. The Woods began leaving and entering the party at will. I split my time between being glued to Oliver's side and taking pictures of the group. I suspect that my picture-taking was part of the reason that Mr. Lanolin took several long smoking breaks, coming back into the house only because Mrs. Lanolin's scolding was worse when she had to go outside to check on him.

After about twenty minutes, Bernard couldn't wait any longer to try out the new toy he'd gotten from his older cousin, and Oliver himself was rather excited to see the training broom in action. After Oliver promised many times to never take his eyes off her son, Aunt Celeste agreed to let Bernard take the broom outside for a test run. Ultimately, she and her husband couldn't trust Oliver quite enough, and the two joined him in the backyard to watch their son fly.

Without Oliver next to me, the small talk with the Woods became ten times more difficult. I could usually count on him to ask his family members questions to keep the discussion flowing. I was never as good at coming up with those polite questions quickly enough, and after half an hour of struggling in the dining room alone, I decided to flee to the backyard.

I walked slowly down the short hallway that connected the kitchen to the dining room. As I reached the door to the kitchen, which held the door to the backyard, I heard a raised voice. I didn't recognize the voice at first, and when I realized that it was Oliver's mother, I almost decided to go outside through the front door and walk around the house to get to the backyard. However, my curiosity got the better of me when Mr. Wood responded to his wife in his calm, cool manner.

"If you'd have told me how important the photo album is to you, I'd have been sure to have gotten it before tonight." There was no sarcasm in Mr. Wood's voice, although Mrs. Wood's response suggested that there must have been something insincere in his facial expression.

"Don't take that holy tone with me, Frank," she snapped. "I told you a million times that I wanted to give Celeste some copies of the pictures of Bernard that we have. I was going to ask Laura if she could make the prints. Perhaps you conveniently forgot that detail, too."

"We can give Laura the pictures any time, via Oliver. I'm not sure why having them tonight—"

"I wanted to have the _copies_ tonight. Tonight. Bernard's birthday. The pictures won't mean as much on another day."

"The album's with _your_ parents," Mr. Wood said, irritation entering his voice for the first time in the argument. "I'm not sure why _you_ never went to get it."

"Because you said one million times that you would!"

Mr. Wood didn't respond immediately (his wife hadn't left much room for more argument), and I stood still, knowing that I should hurry away from the scene, but too startled to do so. Oliver's parents had always gotten along smashingly while I was around them. Up until that point, I'd only heard Mr. Wood direct his passive aggressiveness at me, and I'd never heard Mrs. Wood raise her voice, let alone yell at someone.

I had to admit that listening to Mrs. Wood beat her husband in an argument using open hostility—my type of anger—as opposed to Mr. Wood's false indifference made me rather happy. I was smiling when Mr. Wood opened the door in front of me. I narrowly escaped being hit in the face since he wasn't watching where he was going.

"We should get back to the guests," he told Mrs. Wood before turning his head enough to see me.

Fortunately, the door almost breaking my nose had taken the smile off my face. Instead of looking pleased, I probably looked afraid. Mr. Wood didn't say anything to me. He looked at me carefully for several seconds, raised his eyebrows, and moved past me. I didn't watch him walk down the short hallway. Instead, I looked to Mrs. Wood.

She grinned. "Well, now you know where Oliver got his rather…loud temper."

"I have wondered about that," I said before I could stop myself. I smiled back as an apology.

"Not the best trait I could have passed along," Mrs. Wood said, and I wondered if _she_ was apologizing. She didn't give me long to ponder it. "I probably should have asked you if you could make some copies for us before ordering Frank to get that photo album."

"Oh, no, I'd be happy to," I said.

"Thank you." Mrs. Wood let me nod in acknowledgement of her thanks before she spoke again, preventing any uncomfortable silence. "You know, Laura, we should probably start attempting to make some wedding cakes soon."

"Oh." I'd almost forgotten the tradition of the bride and mother of the groom baking the wedding cake for the guests.

"I think I still have some recipes—magical ones—for wedding cakes somewhere. It's been a while since I looked at them…."

When Mrs. Wood and I had something to talk about, our conversations usually would go smoothly, even without Oliver around. To my pleasure, our talk about wedding cakes went better than normal. When I'd found out about the tradition while attending Tara and Adam's wedding, making the wedding cake with my fiancé's mother seemed as if would be some kind of test. I started looking at it as an opportunity to more easily become one of the Woods.

I did very much want to be a part of that family.

Just as Mrs. Wood and I agreed that vanilla cake with vanilla icing was best for a wedding cake (chocolate lovers be damned), the door to the kitchen opened, and Mr. Wood stepped into the small space. I stopped talking immediately, figuring I was less likely to get myself into any trouble that way. I might have even taken a few steps towards one of the walls in the room, trying to blend in with the scenery as much as possible. Not that I thought Mr. Wood would start anything in front of his wife, especially right after bickering with her. It was just an automatic response.

I needn't have bothered moving out of Mr. Wood's way. He was uninterested in me. A quick glance was his acknowledgment of my presence. He walked over to the table and placed a thick book on the kitchen table, next to some dirty dishes from the night. When he turned around, Mrs. Wood smiled at him, and he grinned back.

"Your father wanted me to say hello."

Mrs. Wood chuckled and looked over at me. "One thing about the Wood men is that they're horrible at actually saying they're sorry."

Mr. Wood laughed. Genuinely laughed. "Spoken apologies are rare. Doesn't mean we're not sorry, though."

His wife nodded, her eyes only on her husband, but her words were for me. "The key is seeing the apologies in their actions."

I turned my eyes to the floor, partially because I thought Oliver's parents were going to kiss and I didn't want to intrude on their moment, but mostly because Mrs. Wood's words hit me pretty hard. I saw how much more smoothly my relationship with Oliver would have gone—from the time we were little kids—if I'd demanded slightly less than a verbal apology and looked for the _signs_ that he was sorry for what happened between us.

I didn't look up again until I heard the door leading to the backyard close. I had assumed that Mr. Wood was leaving, and I took yet another step backwards when I saw him looking at me curiously. He didn't have much else to look at, seeing as we were the only two in a room he'd seen thousands of times.

For a few minutes, neither of us said a word. Mr. Wood pretended to be busy, moving dishes from one surface to another. That he didn't just leave the room to end the awkwardness proved that Mrs. Wood must have told him to talk to me, not unlike Ian demanded that I talk to my future father-in-law. I spent too much time debating, one more time, whether or not Ian truly could beat me in a duel. After deciding my chances against my photographing friend weren't good, there was nothing else to angst about; I surely would have no better opportunity to talk to Mr. Wood.

All that was left to decide was what to say. This took another couple of minutes. Finally, I opened the conversation with honesty.

"I'm not very good at apologizing, either."

Mr. Wood had his back to me, but he turned his head, as if trying to hear me better. "You want to apologize?"

"Not really," I said. "I probably should, though."

Oliver's father didn't respond. He did slow down in his busy work, though, perhaps thinking.

"I'm not really sure why I'm apologizing," I admitted.

Mr. Wood laughed again as he turned to face me. "Naturally."

I could feel my anger rising at his quip. I was trying to improve the relationship, after all. I was at least making an effort, which seemed a poor reason to attack my character. Then, I saw it was possible that Mr. Wood hadn't meant it as an attack at all. It was possible that he'd simply meant it was natural for one not to know why he or she should apologize. It wasn't likely, but why was I inclined to take everything he said in the worst possible way? Out of all of the conversations we'd had—I only chose to write about the worst—I was rarely even the subject of his comments, let alone the target of any of his attacks.

"I'm sorry for taking everything so personally."

Mr. Wood shrugged. "I've usually meant things personally."

My temper started rising again, and this time, I didn't try to give Mr. Wood the benefit of the doubt. I raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, still in control enough to know that a verbal response at that point could only make matters worse.

Mr. Wood sighed dramatically, not unlike how his son would when exasperated with himself or someone else. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean that."

Nothing could have prepared me for those words. I'd have been better prepared to hear that I'd just been named Minister of Magic. To say that my shock must have been apparent to Mr. Wood would be an understatement. Even I was aware that my jaw was slack and my eyebrows were threatening to join my hairline.

"Don't look so stunned," Mr. Wood said, crossing his arms but grinning.

"I'm trying not to, but I can't help it."

Mr. Wood laughed at my attempt to make my facial expression more neutral, and his laughter helped snap me out of my surprise.

"Oliver must have ended up as horrible at apologizing as I am, I take it?" he asked.

"No," I answered. "I think he might actually be worse." I wasn't kidding.

"It runs in the Wood family."

"I've heard."

Mr. Wood nodded. For such an uncomfortable conversation, Mr. Wood seemed in no hurry to get through it. Yet again, after a few silent minutes, I was forced to say something I didn't really want to say.

"I'm sorry for what happened Second Year." I paused, but got no response. "Between Oliver and me. That fight with Percy."

"Oliver seems to have got over it," Mr. Wood said.

I nodded since that obviously was true. "Yes, he has." I gathered up my nerve. "Are you?"

Oliver's father cocked his head slightly to one side. "Am I? Over the fight you had with my son?"

I nodded, just once.

"I wasn't aware I was involved."

"I…." I stopped talking to gather my thoughts. "I thought that's why you didn't like me."

Mr. Wood leaned up against the side of the counter, near the kitchen sink. His back bumped the pile of dishes waiting to be washed, but Mr. Wood ignored their clinking. He uncrossed his arms to put his hands on the edge of the counter, on either side of him. His more casual position made his son's resemblance of him blatant.

Oliver often took a similar posture while standing in the kitchen of my small house or his even smaller apartment, while I supervised the dishes magically washing themselves. The dishes didn't need to be watched, but I knew that once the two of us left the kitchen, there would be less conversation. Once we left the kitchen, in the living room, Oliver would usually work on Quidditch strategy and I would read, the radio offering plenty of background noise. Oliver seemed to understand why I stayed in the kitchen to "wash" the dishes. Perhaps, I thought, Mr. and Mrs. Wood had a similar routine. The idea—one that had never really occurred to me before that night—made me at least a little more comfortable with the conversation, for whatever reason.

"I have to admit that I've always been a bit…wary of you because of that fight." After a pause, Mr. Wood added, "Maybe that was unfair."

It was as close to an apology as I was likely to get, and I accepted it, not verbally or even with a nod, but with a weak smile.

Mr. Wood chuckled a bit, mostly to himself. "You want an explanation for why I've been…cold towards you sometimes."

"Yes," I said, unsure why that was amusing but glad we were finally getting to the point.

"You're sure?"

"Yes," I said again, but now a bit unsure even of that.

"I never really got to meet you when you were very young, before you and Oliver stopped being friends, but Oliver brought Percy to the house frequently. So, based on what Oliver told me about you and what I saw in Percy, I've always seen the two of you as being the same, more or less."

I wasn't following what he was saying very well. "You saw Percy and me as the same?"

Mr. Wood nodded.

I paused. "And you didn't like Percy?"

Mr. Wood shrugged. "I didn't dislike him, but he reminded me of his mother when she was about his age."

"Mrs. Weasley?" I asked doubtfully.

"Well, he had to get it from somewhere, and it certainly wasn't from Arthur," Mr. Wood answered, smirking a little.

"You're saying Mrs. Weasley was as much of a…workaholic as Percy?"

Mr. Wood thought about it for a second before admitting, "I never talked to Molly much after Hogwarts, but I would assume that she used to be just as serious about her role as a mother as her son is about his job at the Ministry. At least, that's what I gathered at the…." Mr. Wood checked my facial expression before finishing, "At the funeral."

"You were there?" I asked, taken aback, especially since Oliver had stayed away.

"In the back." Hastily, he added, "With the rest of the Ministry members."

"I suppose," I said, "now that I think about it, I see how Percy took after his mum quite a bit."

Mr. Wood had had a point: Mrs. Weasley had been very serious about her work as a mother. And, the more I thought about it, other similarities occurred to me. Both Mrs. Weasley and Percy had subtler senses of humor than the rest of the family. Both Weasleys placed a great deal of faith in books: Mrs. Weasley's books on housekeeping and life, Percy's books on government and politics. Because Mrs. Weasley's priorities differed so much from her son's priorities, the great similarities between their two personalities had escaped me—me and probably most of the Weasleys, too.

"And, both Molly and Percy are a bit different than they were when they were younger," Mr. Wood said, breaking into my thoughts. "Percy seems to have gotten more serious, Molly a little less so."

I nodded my agreement, at least with what he'd said about Percy, while sitting down on the edge of the table, which was next to the wall and was used for eating quick meals and keeping junk off the floor.

"Molly was very studious at Hogwarts. She was a Gryffindor Prefect, like Percy was obviously going to become."

"Wait," I said. "I see how they're similar. So…you think—or thought—I'm like Percy?"

"More or less."

"And…Percy reminded you of Mrs. Weasley."

"Very much so."

"And…you didn't like Mrs. Weasley?" I asked, feeling even more lost than I had before trying to work out what Mrs. Weasley had to do with Mr. Wood being less than kind to me sometimes.

Mr. Wood looked at me carefully, standing up straighter and folding his arms again. To my astonishment, he started laughing. "Oliver never told you?"

"Told me what?" I asked, slightly annoyed, slightly worried.

Mr. Wood laughed even more, but I thought I detected a little uneasiness this time. "I dated Molly while we were at Hogwarts."

I was suddenly very glad that I was sitting down because, if I hadn't been, I might have fallen over. Of course, I had been aware that Oliver's parents and Percy's parents were roughly the same age, so naturally, they went to school together, but I had never pursued the idea further. I was overcome by that extensive confusion that only comes as facts begin coming together.

"Merlin's beard…" I said to myself, nothing intelligent coming to me fast enough.

"Oliver never told you?" Mr. Wood asked. He didn't need an answer. "I wonder why."

I wondered why, too, but there were more pressing issues.

"When?" I asked bluntly.

Mr. Wood shrugged, but he knew the answer. "My seventh year, her sixth."

"You didn't date Mrs. Wood at Hogwarts?"

"No," he said, leaning back again, bumping more dishes, still guarding his chest with his arms. He looked over towards the door leading outside as it opened, but whoever had begun to enter had changed his or her mind. "We started dating after I began at the Ministry." He grinned. "She was my boss's secretary."

I laughed a little. "Well…I suppose things worked out for the best."

"Oh, yes," Mr. Wood said. He freed a hand to wave it flippantly in front of him. "Molly was very happy with her family, and I with mine."

I nodded, and although Mr. Wood's past was becoming clearer, what it had to do with me was still rather perplexing, and I said so.

Mr. Wood nodded a little to acknowledge that he'd heard the question before turning away for a minute to think about how best to answer me. I watched as he performed a charm to make the dishes in the sink start cleaning themselves. He watched the spell working for a few more seconds before turning around again, twirling his wand in one hand.

"I suppose I thought the past was going to repeat itself," he said. He knew that this wasn't going to make much sense to me, so he continued, "Oliver's very much like me, after all. And you're similar to Molly."

"All of us have quite a bit in common," I interrupted.

"I've come to see that in the last few years, thanks to you and Oliver," Mr. Wood said, passing his wand to his other hand, which he used to continue twisting it between his fingers.

"So…you assumed Oliver and I would date?"

"I didn't think about it much when you and Oliver were young. Then, when I thought Oliver hated you, obviously it didn't occur to me. But, your seventh year, at New Year's…let me show you something."

Mr. Wood walked across the small kitchen, to the door that led towards the dining room. He picked the photo album he'd retrieved for Mrs. Wood off the counter. After flipping through a few pages, he found what he was looking for and motioned for me to come nearer. When I did, I saw a picture of Oliver and me, dancing.

I smiled and took the album out of Mr. Wood's hands so that I could see it more clearly. "I remember you taking this picture," I said. It had been at the first New Year's party I'd attended at the house. Oliver had one arm around my waist, and my hand was on his shoulder. We both looked like we'd been interrupted, and I suppose we had been by the camera's sudden presence. As I kept watching the picture, Oliver and I turned to look at each other, and laughed.

"Not a bad picture, no?" Mr. Wood asked.

"Not at all," I answered, looking up at him and grinning. "Mind if I make a copy?"

"You can have that one if you want it," he said. He kept talking before I could take his offer personally. "Anyway, I knew that, if I was able to walk up right in front of Oliver and still take him by surprise, he was dealing with a fairly big distraction."

I looked down, still smiling but not wanting to rub it in Mr. Wood's face.

"You should be proud. It's not easy to distract a Keeper," Mr. Wood said, and even though there was sarcasm in his voice, there was humor, too. Kindness, even.

I laughed politely and looked up at Oliver's father again. I thought I had a good picture of what had been going through his mind when he'd warned me to stay away from his son.

"You thought history would repeat itself. Not meaning the fight Second Year. Meaning your relationship with Mrs. Weasley, which…didn't work."

"Well…first of all, she wasn't Mrs. Weasley then," Mr. Wood said, laughing and taking the photo album from me. He placed it back on the counter. "But other than that, you've got the basic idea."

"Only the basic idea?" I said, asking him to continue.

Mr. Wood smiled and blushed slightly. "If history would have _truly_ repeated itself, you would have broken up with Oliver, not the other way around."

"Mrs.—Molly broke up with you?" I struggled with the name and the idea.

"It's not very much fun, is it?" Mr. Wood asked, more sympathetically than I'd have expected.

"No," I agreed. "It's not very much fun at all." After a moment, I added, "Not something you'd want your son to experience."

"Well…not if it was inevitable, which is how I viewed things between you and Oliver, I suppose."

The two of us stood in silence for a minute, not looking at each other, but not making that as obvious as it had been earlier in the conversation.

"Why did she break up with you?" I asked, probably getting too personal, but it seemed important to understanding why Mr. Wood had sometimes gone out of his way to make it clear I was hardly his favorite person.

"I never really knew," Mr. Wood answered. "She had reasons, of course. She wasn't the type not to have reasons. Something about me graduating, going to work, and her last year of Hogwarts, which would take a great deal of time. Something about not wanting to waste my time…or hers. Like I said, I'm not sure I ever really understood, but…." The more he spoke, the less he seemed to want to say. "Maybe she didn't really know, either."

"There's a very good chance of that," I said, thinking of Oliver's reasons to break up with me that hadn't occurred to him for several months, if not several years, after actually doing so.

"But it doesn't really matter now," Mr. Wood said.

Throughout the conversation, he had given me no reasons to think otherwise. He spoke of Mrs. Weasley fondly, like an old friend, but their relationship had ended too long ago for any real pain to remain. After all, as Mr. Wood had said, everything had turned out well for the two of them. Overall. And, what more can someone really ask for?

…For one's family and friends to be happy, too.

"Are you still afraid I'll hurt Oliver?" I asked as gently as I could.

Even though I had been upfront with my questions from the beginning of the conversation, this question caught Mr. Wood off guard. He stopped moving his wand through his fingers and looked directly at me for the first time in several minutes.

"Will you?" he asked.

I started to say no, of course not, I would rather die, all of the usual answers that come immediately to mind when asked if you will hurt someone you love.

"Not on purpose," I said, finding more truth in this answer. "I don't want to hurt him."

Mr. Wood nodded twice, maybe three times, his eyes losing focus as he thought. "He'll probably hurt you, too," he said, and although I could tell he wasn't happy about this, as I might have expected him to be, he did seem to find comfort in the thought. I could understand; there is comfort in believing people will get back what they give, pain included, whether they mean to give it or not.

"Not on purpose," I said. When Mr. Wood's gaze turned back to me, I smiled, thinly but not sarcastically.

He returned the smile, and I was pleased when the smile reached his eyes. "You'll be OK," he said, nodding as if to further convince himself. "Both of you. The two of you."

"I know." I nodded, too, trying to hide that my eyes were tearing up, cursing myself mentally for getting emotional.

Mr. Wood took the point of his wand and scratched his temple with it, thinking. "I do wonder why Oliver didn't tell you about Molly and me. I always thought you knew and that everything I told you tonight…you would just figure out on your own."

"Maybe he was embarrassed."

Mr. Wood raised his eyebrows, surprised, but also insulted.

"I mean…!" I started. "I mean, not that there's anything wrong with it. Nothing to be embarrassed of. Just because of Oliver and Percy…being friends and then not being friends."

Mr. Wood's look of indignation was turning into one of puzzlement as his eyebrows lowered and his forehead creased. He put his wand back into the pocket of his cloak and waited for a better explanation.

"I mean…I'm sure Oliver never told Percy, either, or Percy would have told me. Unless Percy was embarrassed." I caught myself quickly. "Not that he should have been."

"I thought Percy would tell Oliver," Mr. Wood said, holding out his hands, palms up, as if I would place answers in them.

"How would Percy know?" I asked, putting my hands in front of me in the same way. If I hadn't been so confused, I would have noticed how I'd picked up the mannerism from Oliver, who must have gotten the gesture from his father.

"I thought Molly would tell him," Mr. Wood responded, raising his hands exasperatedly, the answer apparently supposed to be obvious.

"Like you told Oliver?"

There wasn't a good answer to that, so Mr. Wood stood there, staggered, for a full minute. Finally, he shook his head. "I've been assuming quite a lot for quite a few years."

I nodded, but I grinned sympathetically. "I don't think it's that uncommon."

Mr. Wood laughed slightly as the door to the backyard opened enough for Oliver to stick his head around it to peek inside. "I didn't want to interrupt before," he said.

"You're not interrupting," Mr. Wood and I said, almost in unison. Both of us were happy not to be alone in the small room, even though our conversation had gone better than either of us had probably expected.

Oliver walked into the room, smiling at the two of us, most likely thanking Merlin that there was no need to reverse any curses.

"In fact," Mr. Wood said, "I was just about to come tell you that I dated Molly Prew—Weasley. At Hogarts."

Oliver stopped smiling rather abruptly at that. He didn't move much for more than a minute, although he did blink more than was necessary. I did my best not to laugh at his reaction, forgetting that my own hadn't been much different. My fake coughing brought Oliver out of shock, and he finally said, "I only came inside to tell everyone that Bernard likes his broom."

"You knew he would," I said, no longer hiding my laughter.

Oliver looked from me, to Mr. Wood, and then back at me. "I thought the two of you were talking about…, well, the two of you."

"We were," I said simply.

"And what does that have to do with Mrs. Weasley?" Oliver asked.

"Quite a bit," I answered, just as simply. I glanced over at Mr. Wood to see how he would respond. He nodded, slowly, smiling at his son's facial expressions.

I knew that Mr. Wood's past relationship with Mrs. Weasley couldn't account for all of the bad feelings that had arisen between the two of us—feelings that both of us, most of the time, were good at hiding while around each other. Although I did not doubt that Mr. Wood's problems with me began with my similarities to Percy, his explanation did not really cover his actions at Tara and Adam's wedding, where Mr. Wood had told me that he hadn't known that Oliver and I had been dating at Hogwarts until Oliver broke up with me. Something else had been behind that (I never asked what): Mr. Wood may have merely been trying to protect his son, or he may have been jealous or angry that I had taken away a little of Oliver's tendency to confide everything in his father. And, it's always possible that Mr. Wood simply didn't like me for personal reasons. Whatever it had been, it wasn't going to disappear because of one short conversation in a kitchen at a boy's birthday party.

But, both Mr. Wood and I knew that it didn't really matter anymore. I had an explanation for at least some of the bad feelings for us, and Mr. Wood had some assurance that Oliver's life wasn't going to be ruined by his marriage to me. Most importantly, the conversation would allow Mr. Wood and I the opportunity to be around each other without being so preoccupied by how we didn't like each other. We wouldn't have to be so conscious of how we were only pretending to get along, which would give us the opportunity to discover we could get along easily enough, and maybe eventually grow to like one another.

I walked over to Oliver, who was getting over his surprise but not his confusion, and smiled at him openly before kissing him on the cheek. "I'm going to go see your mum about some pictures that she wants copied. I think your dad probably has some things he'd like to tell _you_."

I would laugh later about how strange it was that Oliver grew up telling his dad everything while his dad shared few stories about himself—something that Mr. Wood would begin to correct, slowly, and something that had very little to do with me outside of making my family happier.

Oliver looked down at me, questioningly, and I knew he wanted permission to ask his dad to be a groomsman. I nodded, still not loving the idea because it went against tradition, but willing to give in. Oliver smiled broadly before kissing my cheek.

As I took the photo album from its place on the counter and opened the door to the small hallway leading to the dining room, I wished the men good luck for their parts of the talk that was to follow, not that they really needed it.

When Oliver found me, about an hour later, I was sitting alone with Mrs. Wood in the living room. All of the guests had left due to bedtime or running out of things to talk about. It had taken next to no time at all for Mrs. Wood to request that I copy any picture at all that had Bernard in it, so we were sitting in silence. Mrs. Wood read a novel while I flipped through the album large enough to contain pictures dating back to Oliver's late Hogwarts days.

"You never told me your dad was so interested in photography," I said, closing the album to give Oliver the attention I should after the conversation he'd just had.

Oliver shrugged. "I guess I never really thought about it. He takes pictures, like every other parent."

I laughed, and Mrs. Wood joined me without even glancing at the two of us.

"But, unlike most parents' snapshots, your dad's pictures are actually good."

Oliver raised his eyebrows and took the photo album from me, flipping it open randomly. "I wouldn't know, I suppose," he said after realizing this was true. He handed the pictures back to me and smiled. "It will give the two of you something to talk about."

"Where is Frank?" Mrs. Wood asked, turning a page while bending the corner down, so she could find her place later.

"Upstairs. I said goodbye already. He asked me to say goodbye to Laura for him."

"You're not staying the night?" his mum asked.

"Not tonight. We both have to be at work tomorrow morning," Oliver answered. He walked over to her as she placed her book on a coffee table and stood.

"All right. I'll go upstairs, too. You can stay as long as you both want."

"We'll probably just Apparate to Laura's."

Mrs. Wood didn't ask questions. She hugged her son briefly. I got out of my chair so I could hug her, as well. She thanked me yet again for agreeing to make copies of the pictures for her, and said goodnight and goodbye before leaving the room.

I didn't want to wait until after we Apparated to my house to hear what Mr. Wood had said. Assuming that I had a good enough idea of what Mr. Wood had told Oliver about Mrs. Weasley, I asked, "What did he say about the wedding?"

"He said that he will stand at the front of the ceremony as a groomsman if it won't interfere with his role as father of the groom," Oliver said.

I nodded in acceptance.

Oliver sat on the sofa on which his mum had been sitting, and he patted the cushion for me to join him. We took a position I'd grown accustomed to: his right hand on my left knee, my left hand on his right forearm, my legs draped over his, my right arm draped around his neck, my head on his left shoulder.

Oliver kissed the top of my head. "Laura?" he asked.

"I'm fine with your dad being a groomsman," I said, moving my head away from him so I could show him I wasn't lying. I wasn't lying.

"Thanks," Oliver said before kissing my forehead.

I felt bad for putting up such a fight over the issue, seeing how much it meant to him. I put my head back onto his shoulder.

"Laura?" he asked again.

"Yeah?"

"I do wish things were different with Percy."

"I know," I said, nodding because I truly did know. "I think it's too late, though."

"You're probably right," Oliver said, pulling me a little closer to him with the arm he had wrapped around my waist.

"I'm all right, you know? About Percy? I wish things were different, too, but I'm OK." I looked up at him.

"I know."

I took my hand off Oliver's arm so that I could wrap both of my arms around his neck. He moved his hand from my leg to return the hug, which should have been more uncomfortable considering our position.

"I love you, you know?" I said into his shoulder.

"I know," Oliver whispered into my ear.

"And I think everything's going to be fine with your dad. Maybe better than fine."

"I know," he said again.

"Your dad said we were going to be OK. Together. The two of us."

"I think he's going to be right."

"I know," I answered, lifting my head and smiling.

Oliver chuckled. "Who knows?" he said. "Maybe, someday, Percy will show up on our doorstep, one bridesmaid short."

The two of us laughed, embarrassedly on my part, and I hit him playfully on the shoulder. He responded by pulling me closer to him.

I knew what Oliver had meant: Percy or I could change in a way that would make a real friendship possible again. Maybe we would have children the same age. Maybe work would bring us into contact with each other. That night, how it was possible wasn't as important as it being plausible. Oliver knew that, even though _maybe, someday'_s rarely turn into _today_'s, they make _today_'s a little easier.

"I'm not sure Aunt Celeste is going to speak to me ever again," Oliver said, obviously changing the subject, not because it was making him uncomfortable but because the topic of conversation was finished.

"Bernard didn't get hurt, did he?" I asked.

"Of course not, but until he gets a real broom, there will always be that possibility."

"Well…then Celeste will speak to you again in about…five years," I said, laughing at my own joke.

"It's better than forever," Oliver agreed, laughing as well, probably politely. "I'll just have to communicate with her through you."

"I'm so glad to be useful."

Oliver laughed more genuinely and unwrapped his arms from around me. "Let's go home."

I stood up first—there wasn't another option, really—and after Oliver followed suit, he pulled me to him, teasingly, most likely trying to lift my spirits in case I was still upset over Percy or his father's role in the wedding but not telling him. I laughed before kissing him briefly.

"I'll meet you at the house," I said.

Oliver grinned, stepped back a few steps and Disapparated.

Giving Oliver enough time to unlock the front door of my house, soon to be our house, in Hogsmeade, I walked to the chair and picked up the photo album. I hadn't made it to the end of the album while waiting for Oliver to come back from his talk with his dad, and out of curiosity, I flipped to the one of the last pages to see a picture of the table Oliver and I had been sitting at on New Year's, the night we finally realized how stupid we were being. The picture had been taken from a distance, but all of us were in focus. I hadn't seen my former classmates since that night, other than by accident for a few minutes in Diagon Alley, but from all I'd heard, they were doing well. They were safe, working too much, but happy.

I laughed at myself at the memory of how uncomfortable I had been that night because of the awkwardness with Oliver. In retrospect, no other group had ever made me feel more wanted, and they had managed that during what had started as a miserable year. It was fitting that all of them would be in the upcoming wedding party. Leaving out one of the girls would have been unthinkable, not only because it would have been insulting to that woman, but because it had taken all of the girls, working together, to help get me to leave my loneliness. I had needed all of the Seventh Years' very different personalities—Cedar's bluntness, Tara's passive compassion, Mark and Adam's comical honesty, Rose's self-centeredness, and, of course, Joan's nosiness—to let me be myself. It shouldn't have mattered to me at all who was in the wedding party if all of the old Seventh Years were.

Granted, shouldn't have mattered and did matter were two vastly different things. But, Mr. Wood being in my wedding made Oliver happy and would make my friends happy. So, I'd get over it.

Still grinning, I closed the photo album, held it closely to my chest, and Disapparated before Oliver would start wondering what was taking me so long.


End file.
